Lights
by bayumlikedayum
Summary: A war-hardened cabbie and one of his passengers fall in love.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Aaaaah! I've been wanting to start on this one for forever!

**Chapter 1**** - Prologue**

Her heels clicked along the pavement sharply, cutting through the clear Austrian air with all the precision of a newly sharpened bayonet piercing through the skin of the hearer. This was a job, she reminded herself. A job.

He was minding his own fucking business for once; walking along, humming in his mind but never aloud, trying to get somewhere that had liquor so he could forget the events of the past three years of his life. What was that irritating clicking sound?

"Sir?"

He knew she was speaking to him; what the fuck else could he do? He halted.

"Sir."

She sounded as though she expected him to do her the courtesy of turning to look at her. Fuck, what did she want; dinner and a kiss on the hand? It was too Austrian in the afternoon to bother with the pretties of society. He wanted to relax, drink, or sleep. He didn't care which because he was off-duty and it was the fucking weekend.

It seemed as though she had given up on the idea of him turning to look at her, being as how she finally walked to in front of him.

"Might I have an interview with you, sir?" She asked, smiling a shit-eating smile that he smiled when he wanted to get into a girl's underwear, except on her it meant something entirely different. "I'm doing an article for _New York Times_," she explained at his What-The-Hell-Are-You-Talking-About Stare,"about the trials that the men in this-"

Fuck if he cared.

"What, so the people back home can read about it in the newspaper? So they can smile and say 'oh, I'm so happy the fucking war's over and my boy didn't die'?"

He resumed his walking, shoving his hands into his pockets and pursing his lips in a pretend whistle before he heard the clacking again.

"Wait, you - you don't talk to me like that. I'll have you know-" Oh, she didn't like that? Spoiled brat, she was. He could see her type, he knew her type at a glance; tailored skirt, clipboard, high heels. Money, pretend naivety, bitchiness.

"Okay, let's get one thing straight; you're not the fucking boss of me, lady." He whirled on her, staring her down, beginning to get pissed off. Yes, he either needed that drink or that sleep. "I will speak to you how I please, when I please, and what I please. And since you're so fucking eager for that article of yours, you can put this on the record for the folks back home to read; my name is Joseph D. Liebgott and I don't give a fuck about your article, so I suggest you run the opposite way when you see me coming because I want me some beer and some sleep and until I get one of those, well, fuck, lady, if I ain't gonna be the most _charming_ fellow you've seen in years."

Ah, sarcasm was a charm. What a fucking charm.

He'd heard of her; Lucille Williams. Word traveled fast when there was an American woman wandering around, following them and their compadres around, trying to find out information about their personal lives so she could write a rallying article to the rest of the Americas.

Yeah, right. He would not have any part in it, except to cause her grief. He didn't like her.

**...**

She fumed, watching him walk away from her. He was careless, foul-mouthed, disrespectful-

She had never been treated thus and as she spun on her heels and marched back towards the cover of watching for someone who would talk for a newspaper, she relished in the knowledge that there was a faithful and perfect man waiting for her back home.

Impertinence. How dare he-


	2. Reunions

**A/N:** A thank you is due to everyone who did anything this chapter; **ruthie-r89, Horsesareamazing, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, CP2girls, Lift the Wings, Whitetiger77, fallnightsandbrightlightsxo, orchid121, gothique4, the everchanging, Volleyball Babe22, THERExistsAstar, lilmoney1507, littlebabydevon, HeadbangGirl, Audrey Jenkins, **and **Philip Marlowe**; thank you! As cliche as it sounds, I cannot wait to begin on this fantastic journey with you guys and I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am.

**DISCLAIMER;** I am perfectly aware that this story is inaccurate with what truly happened in Joe Liebgott's life and is only loosely associated with actual events - these writings and conclusions are based on the miniseries and the man portrayed there. I own nothing of that particular miniseries; if I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. Js.

Read and Review. :)

**Chapter 2**** - Reunions**

**Three Years Later;**

_Click clack. Click clack. Click clack._

It was a brisk monotone; lofty and unchanging, perhaps one of the few constant sounds throughout her day. No matter where she went, the clacking pursued her persistently, following her through the workplace and the household alike.

She was happy that day; floating on the clouds, perhaps, or maybe residue from the night before kept her heart singing joyfully as her feet carried her through her routines and her smile remained happily pasted across her face. The weather certainly hadn't matched her good mood; when she had awoken that morning, gray skies had met her felicitous gaze. But no matter - nothing could bring her down today. Nothing.

When the lilting clack of her heels brought her outside and it became apparent that it was not possible for her to get her car without ruining her hairdo in the pouring rain - and she had _so_ wanted to look beautiful for him on that particular day, of all days - even then, she was as unconquered as she had been when she awoke that morning.

Her one mistake, in all of her euphoric daydreams, was glancing around and seeing a woman getting out of a cab, saying farewell to the man inside as though they had known each other for centuries. It was no matter to her; she shielded her head - or, more specifically, her beautifully coifed golden hair - from the rain, and practically ran to the now-vacant cab before it could drive away.

**...**

There is a certain thing to be said about the people you meet and the rules you learn while driving a cab. For instance, there are two kinds of people; the frugal kind, who has their carefully counted money in hand before the wheels underneath the automotive pull to a stop, and the rich kind, who blabbers the entire ride and stuffs money in the driver's hand after estimating roughly how many bills they are handing over. You learn important life lessons from such people; example, it's wise to keep your mouth shut until the money has exchanged hands.

After the money has exchanged hands, however, you may say whatever the fuck you please.

Joseph D. Liebgott was having an eventful day. First, a man in a tacky yellow trench coat had nearly ruined his upholstery with mustard topping from his hot dog, then a lady climbed in, but it turned out she was holding a cat nearly scratched his eyes out while he was trying to drive, after which he had just gotten back to headquarters because he'd become decidedly hungry again and needed to have a second breakfast; right when he was about to bite into his delicious egg omelet, however, the phone rang and he was given the address of a dame who wanted to be picked up.

After promising his egg omelet he would return and dashing out before realizing he could have brought the omelet along, he drove to given address and gave the lady the ride of her life. Finally, it seemed as he drove along back towards headquarters once again, he would be alone with his egg omelet for at least five - but no, there was a lady hailing - no, he would not slow down - but oh, fuck, there appeared the red light that told him to fucking stop in the middle of his life and wait for people in other cars to cross an intersection. It seemed that as soon as he slowed to a halt, that lady magically appeared in his backseat.

_Fuck_, he cursed as she gave him the address. As soon as the red light turned green, they were off, speeding across ground as fast as possible. Egg omelet, egg omelet, egg omelet.

"Aw, shit," groaned the voice from the back seat.

Grumpy from the lack of egg omelet in his stomach, he opened his mouth and let his emotions come out.

"Geezus, lady, watch the fucking language!"

It took less time for her to react than it did for her to say her retort. As he half-listened to this retort, his brain nearly on autopilot, he mused on the capabilities that the woman in the backseat possessed. Brothers, perhaps? She was quite familiar with all and any profanity that flew from her mouth - bright, too; she'd replied faster than most girls could think, let alone begin to speak.

All this rushed through his mind in about the space of three millimeters of a second as he drew conclusion upon conclusion about the female in the backseat; so busy _thinking_ was he, that it might have taken a mere second more to digest what she had just said than it would have normally.

"You watch _your_ fucking language, there's a lady in the - HOLY SHIT, LIEBGOTT?"

Quite as soon as it registered, he slammed on the brakes and, before the car had even come to a full stop, he had turned around and was already intently glaring at her for disturbing his driving - let alone knowing his name. What the fuck was she, a stalker who -

"FUCK, LADY, WHAT'S YOUR-" Oh, fuck. His lips stopped moving and his eyes were obliged to take a hard second look, his eyelids drawing closer together in an attempt to make the visage in front of him make sense. "Dani?"

Just like that, his day expanded. As he dropped her off at her destination and promised to meet her at the dingy coffeeshop of her choice despite the drenching rain, he couldn't help but think that yes, this had been a rather unexpected day indeed.

Before he could even pull away, however, there was another form in the backseat, rosy lips blurting out the wanted final destination before she had even closed the back door, composing herself directly afterwards as she glanced downwards to check her fashionably small wristwatch.

"Fuck," he muttered as the wheels pulled away from the curb. "And I suppose you want a drizzle of chocolate to go on that pancake."

He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud - even if it had been a mutter - until she paused sorting through her miniature handbag to look up at him and give him the honor of gazing intently at what she could see of him through the rear-view mirror.

"What's your name, driver?" She asked. Somehow, her tone told him that when she asked, people answered. How he wanted - needed - to do her the displeasure of not giving her a correct answer, or even answer at all; however, the money had not changed hands quite yet. In fact, he had not even reached the luxurious destination, let alone asked for payment.

So he opened his full lips and replied; "Joe."

"Joe what?" She was leaning forward, past the cushion of the front seat, to see his face, as he would not turn his visage and stare at her as though she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen in his life; he was driving, after all. Joe what. Nosy, inquisitive, proud bitch who - 

Fuck the money.

"Is it any of your fucking business?" He snarled, hurling a turn, hoping that she would knock her head against the seat and fall unconcious; unhappily, he was too good of a driver for such things to happen and she remained without a lump in her curls. 

"I _did_ ask, didn't I?"

_Money. Money. Egg omelet. Money. Keep temper, keep temper, keep temper; money. Egg omelet. Money._ Ran the thoughts in his mind, before he once again prepared to let the world hear the epiphany his mouth would speak next.

"Joe Liebgott."

Perhaps the world had not heard the epiphany, but she had, and it had suddenly become her epiphany.

"Where do I know you from?"

"Fuck if I know." He grumbled, focusing his eyes upon the road and ignoring her stare, which had, if possible, grown even worse with the newest revelation of his being Joe Liebgott. "I'm beginning to wish I'd never gone there, I can tell you that."

No money. Fuck the money.

"Ah! I have it!" She cried triumphantly, as if a headlight had suddenly crashed into her brain and exchanged places. Suddenly, she was everywhere - patting him on the sleeve, tugging on his sleeve, leaning back to contentedly sink into the upholstery, back up again to touch him on the arm. "You were in Austria, weren't you?"

FUCK THE MONEY.

"Real fucking brain you've got there, lady."

"Lucille," she corrected him, too caught up in the midst of her newest discovery to care about his offensiveness. "Lucille Williams."

"Yeah, and I don't really give a fuck," he mumbled, nearly to himself, seeing as how she was overcome with - well, whatever the fuck she was overcome with.

"Mr. Liebgott, I have a preposition for you. Can you guess what it is?" 

"You get out of the fucking car and give me some quiet and I go find my egg omelet and relish in a full belly?"

"What - no, Mr. Liebgott," she brushed aside the expression of his hopes and dreams with an amused, tinkling laugh. "See, just today, I was saying to Mr. Luef, 'what if we did a report on the average soldier after the war?'"

"And I should care why?" Nearly there. If only she would get out of the cab as soon as it pulled to a stop... vain wishes, he knew, but when there is a rich woman in your backseat who doesn't shut the fuck up, there brews inside of your belly a certain desperation to _get the fuck out_.

"Oh, Mr. Liebgott, you're so funny!" She waved a single dainty wrist, laughing that laugh again, as though the world was hers and that simple flick of the hand was enough to express how truly _amusing_ she found him. "I'd like to ask you, Mr. Liebgott, to let us interview you for this spread. I know that we'd have a marvelous time; and besides, we'd pay you handsomely."

"Fuck, no."

The cab finally pulled to a halt in front of a towering building front, imperious in its stature and altogetherly aware of its omnipresence as it glared down at whoever passed it and promised to crush anyone poor who came in through the front door.

It was with ease that Joseph D. Liebgott decided that she lived there.

"I'm not leaving this cab until you agree, Mr. Liebgott." She sat back, revelling in the comfort of the cab, even as she pulled her pearly white gloves on more fully, and even as she smiled at him with all the contentedness of a cat who has just drunk its fill of creamy milk.

"You're going to have to wait a long time, then."

"And so I shall."

So they sat there. For countless measures of time, they just... sat. In silence. Joe began to fiddle with his fingers, staring across the street with a hard gaze.

She lived quite aways from the dingy coffeeshop he had promised to meet Dani at. Finally, he knew if he did not hurry, he would not make it on time. And yet his fucking stubbornness remained; he had the constitution of a mule and, in his eyes, she had all the attractiveness of one.

So still, they sat there, at a stalemate. He glanced in the rearview mirror; she still bore the unsufferable expression on her face of a fat and thoroughly happy feline.

And so he caved, with only the temptation of getting out of her presence to tempt him. She stuffed uncounted money into his hand before she danced out of the cab and up to the front of the house.

Fuck, he missed that egg omelet.


	3. Telephone

**A/N:** Many thanks due to; _Whitetiger77, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, gothique4, Kelly Belle, sorry we're full, 1womanpres, HeadbangGirl, CP2girls, Audrey Jenkins, Ryuu Miyori, _and_ KatAngel16._ HUGS!

I must ask and ask and plead for you to review; I'd love for you to send suggestions (it doesn't even have to be about this story), feedback, comments, thoughts, etc. Just please, let me know what you thought of when you read it. :) Apologies for this chapter being short (and a day late), I'm still working on that particular bad habit.

Read and Review!

**Chapter 3**** - Telephones**

The card she clutched between her fingers crinkled as her heels tapped into the house, her stride light yet commanding, the echoing of her footsteps hurrying across the marble floors not once distracting her as she traipsed up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, through a doorway, and into the company of relatives and interests alike.

"I have it!" She exclaimed, her accomplished, beaming white smile nearly stretching from ear to ear. Before she could completely push it away, the fleeting thought crossed her mind that had Mr. Liebgott been standing there, he would have muttered something about a fucking Cheshire cat.

**...**

Problem? He didn't have a problem; Joe Liebgott never had a problem. If the clock said he was late, well, the clock was fucking off, and that was that. He never gave a fuck if he was late in the first place; and who did give a fuck, really? He wouldn't have given a fuck now, if only -

If only the person waiting for him had been any different, or the person who had held him back for so fucking long had been any different.

As it was, he found himself running over what he could say to Dani to excuse his behavior. All for nothing, as it turned out; when he finally reached the danky coffeeshop, walked in the door, and located her sitting in a side booth, the only words that came to him were, "Fucking lady held me up," and Dani, being Dani, didn't need any other affirmations of his efforts.

Short, sweet, and sublime.

He hadn't thought he would consider it 'nice' to see someone - what kind of a word was 'nice', anyway? - but he found it was true. Good, nice, put it any way you like; Dani's face was a welcome sight in the midst of his very 'interesting' day, even as changed as it was.

**...**

**3 weeks later:**

The door opened and closed, the wooden board in front of the door creaked with the same tone as it did every morning when he left to cab and every night when he came back. The repetitive sigh crossed his lips as his arms freed themselves of his jacket and threw the garment over the back of a threadbare chair. Just the same every night; the same steps to the pantry, the same exasperated promise to get groceries, the same, the same, the same - the only break from routine was the ringing in the background.

Ringing. What the -

_Ringring._

The boards creaked over and over again as the weight of his feet hit them and consecutively left them. The telephone receiver was picked up, the piece held to his ear, the mouth piece brought to his full lips.

"Joe," he answered carelessly, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. Fuck, what did someone want in the middle of the evening -

"Hey, Joe," Her warm voice crackled over the airwaves.

He _almost_ smiled. Well, if it _had_ to be someone.

"Dani, you better have a good reason for this."

"Don't worry; I don't." A rush of static signaled a sigh over the phone and a small sniffle made itself apparent to his ear. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend and, you know, drink someone under the table or something."

For all his faults, Joseph D. Liebgott was not oblivious. By the time they had made plans to, as she put it, drink someone under the table, he did not care enough to look at the clock and instead sat on his jacket in the threadbare chair, munched on what food had been salvageable from the closet, and listened with wry amusement to Dani's attempts at begging him to come to one of her shows.

"You can kill me first. And I'm hanging up now, Dani."

"No, no-"

_Click._ Not three seconds later after he'd managed the unthinkable task of standing to his feet, crossing the room, and reaching the doorway of the small and grimy bedroom, he had just stepped inside and was nearly reaching out to prepare to sprawl out on the flimsy bed when -

_Ringring._

Feet thumping on the ground, he stomped back over to the damn thing and practically wrenched the fucking machine apart before he unceremoniously yanked it up to his mouth and abruptly spoke; "I swear, Dani, I will fucking kill you if you don't give me a good reason this time."

"Mr. Liebgott, there is no reason to-"

"Oh, fuuuuck." He groaned, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "What do _you_ want?" 

"I was about to get to that," she sounded almost offended somehow that it was not his deepest desire to talk to her before he crawled into bed and stayed there for hours and hours and hours. "I was calling to set up an appointment."

"An appointment," he echoed her words robotically. What the fuck-

"Yes, an appointment." Her tone became that of a prissy exasperation that only shows up in those who do not get angry, merely _annoyed_. "Remember, Mr. Liebgott, you promised that you would do an interview with me. It turns out, I just got the go-ahead. Isn't that fantastic?"

"Yip-fucking-pee," he agreed, if only sardonically.

"Now, I would like to do one every week so we can schedule things ahead of time. I was thinking Saturday-"

This meant he was going to have to spend more time with her.

Oh. Fuck.

**...**

He had the pleasure of being late on Saturday morning when it dawned bright and early over San Francisco. He was so late, he was happy to see that her hoofed foot was tapping impatiently upon the tiles and there was a frown on her face as she examined that utterly ridiculous watch.

She only glanced up at him when he slid into the booth; even then, she did not look too pleased. Perhaps it had been the choice of venue, the selection of the meeting place that had her so... disturbed.

Whichever it was, he could not stop the smirk from sliding across his handsome face as his fingers raked through his dark, dark hair and his dark, dark eyes stared across the side booth table at her. Oh, yes. He was not here because he wanted to be. And that was something that he felt she needed to know acutely.

It was his job to let her know so.


	4. High Esteem

**A/N: **Shout-outs + hugs to;** cHoCoLaTe-RuM**,** gothique4**, **CP2girls**, and **HeadbangGirl**.

Stick with me, guys; it's gonna pick up soon, pinky promise. ;)

Read+Review, pleases! Let me know what you think.

**Chapter 4**** - High Esteem**

So her nose was tipped up; supposedly to uphold the tiny glasses that perched there ever so delicately, but Joe Liebgott knew the difference between upholding glasses and snobbiness.

Well, fuck if he was going to change his habits for her. And so away he slurped at his coffee, knowing all along on the inside that it was just to annoy her.

And what the fuck was her name, in the first place? Something to go with her nose... that pippity, fucking high nose that was currently still held up in the air - ah.

"So, Lucy." He would have propped his feet up on the table, if only it was a little further away from him. Then it wouldn't have been so uncomfortable of a perch, and he would have gladly stuck his worn shoes in her face. Hallelujah. "When are you going to start asking me questions and shit?" 

"Don't call me Lucy. If you must, you may call me Miss Williams, or, since I'm in a good mood, Miss Lucille." Her nose went higher in the air. "And I will begin to ask you questions whenever you feel that you are prepared."

"Shoot away."

He didn't see what she had against his nickname for her. It was perfectly adequate; what was it, two syllables? It was even prissy enough, but noooo. Miss _Williams_ or Miss _Lucille_, thank you, _Mr. Liebgott._

Geezus. She needed a good smoke. Or a kiss. But he doubted anyone would ever accept money to kiss that creature, and since he definitely wasn't going to do it, he decided to save himself and continue thinking she simply needed a good smoke.

"Well, I'm going to need a brief history of what happened before you came back home, just to fill in the blanks of the article." Her smile was too bright; nearly blinding, in fact. Maybe it was supposed to be honey-filled and sweet-as-ice-cream, but to him, it was like staring into the sun; painful. Indigestion painful.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak and spill out his entire story. He stared back at her, trying to tell himself that the smile would, in fact, _not_ blind him and there was, _in fact_, hope of getting out of the coffeshop alive.

She cleared her throat delicately, reaching up a slender hand and petting her throat, as if to call attention to the sound, as if to make sure that such a sound was not wasted on the individual sitting across from her. And such an individual, too; on such an individual, perhaps it would be wasted.

"Well, fuck, Lucy," he blinked owlishly as he lifted a cigarette out of his pocket and to his lips even as he produced a Zippo seemingly out of midair, all while talking; "do you expect me to recount my entire life story in two seconds? And without any questions too. Such a fucking shame. I was really looking forward to those questions and shit."

"Do not call me Lucy." She replied, her mouth tightening ever so slightly. "As I have already said."

**...**

**2 hours later;**

"Do. Not. Call. Me. Lucy." She instantly regretted the words that came out of her mouth when she saw the smirk that spread across his. And yet she continued before he could say anything, pasting the smile back onto her aching cheeks. _This was a job,_ she reminded herself for perhaps the trillionth time, _a job that could advance your career. A job. _"I'm sure I don't know what you're going about, Mr. Liebgott. If I didn't know better, I would think that you didn't _want_ to be here; which is, of course, absurd, since I know dozens of other men who would kill to be in your shoes at this exact moment."

"Oh, Lucy, honey," he drawled, taking another drag out of his third cigarette, "believe me; I have killed to be _out_ of my shoes."

"_Don't call me Lucy_."

"Did it slip again? I'm so sorry, Lucy; really, really, I am." He opened his eyes wide, exaggeratedly innocent.

Her delicate mouth barely repressed a sigh as she looked at that fucking ridiculous watch, glanced at the notepad that contained very few scribbles.

"I think we should call it a day."

If any man's soul ever contained choirs of angels, Joseph Liebgott's did at that very moment; and those angels were singing the _Hallelujah_ chorus.

And so before she could even open her mouth once again, there was a blur, a wind, and suddenly, he was outside, passing by the coffeeshop's front window, and then he was gone.

Out of sight, out of mind; it was a wonderful saying, and she could only hope that it applied to her current situation. All she needed was certain material so she could put together an amazing story about a man after the war. Everyone would read it, everyone would love it, and her career would benefit from it.

But for some reason, she found it rather hard to forget about Joseph D. Liebgott.

**...**

Three Saturdays passed, and three sessions dragged by. At the end of each two hours, Ms. Lucille Williams nearly felt the same as Liebgott as he bounded out onto the sidewalk and started bad-mouthing passerbys because of his ecstatic, unrelatable happiness of being free. In each of their minds, they had firmly decided that this wasn't a skirmish or a battle; this was a war. And Ms. Lucille Williams? On the fifth Saturday, she was going to charge into battle.

The pillows had to be arranged _just_ right; the box in front of the rectangle, the rectangle diagonal to the roll, the frills at the back - ah, perfection! The maid, with her cliche white-frilled apron and cap, fled as soon as she was dismissed. Perhaps she knew that 'Ms. Lucille, ma'am' wasn't inviting someone over for tea, or perhaps she knew that something was going on, and that she did not wish to be caught in the crossfire of what came next.

All any servant in the house knew was that when Joe Liebgott arrived, he came to the front door with mud on his single pair of shoes, the coat that the butler took was threadbare, and his head, while not lacking in threads of hair, was still very much so bare. Tsk tsk.

As for Joe Liebgott's thoughts on the matter, all he knew was that the interior of the house looked nearly exactly like the exterior of the house. Hell, the place looked like a museum of tombs. Stone and marble everywhere, white doors, a winding staircase, and not a smile on a servant's face anywhere. He imagined he could hear crying and moaning; maybe a few rattlings of chains.

As for Lucy, when he found her, well; she had her nose so high up, her back was bent all the way backwards and her nostrils were stuck firmly in her ass.

"Is something amusing, Mr. Liebgott?" She asked stiffly, knowing that the state of the pillows happened to be presentable, so he could not possible be tittering over the placement of the decoration.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he replied, flopping onto the nearest expensive sofa with the most cushions, and cheerfully ruining the location of the stuffed cases of goose feathers. She would have groaned in agony, if the sound had been permissable in a man's company, even as vulgar a man as this one.

"I beg your pardon," she said, rather affronted. He messes with her sofa, he doesn't dignify her inquiry with a reply, and all while sauntering insolently into her palace as if he had a right to - to - to - why! To saunter insolently into her palace as if he had a right to!

"Oh, don't worry," his stretching arms knocked a few more impliments of a seamstress' toiling onto the floor. "You're quite pardoned."

She wanted to slap him silly and she didn't quite understand it; with other people, she was able to withstand it with a smile and another query. She was, after all, a journalist. But there was something about him that simply got to her like no one else ever had. And she wanted to - oh, she didn't even know what she wanted to do, she wanted to do it so much!

"Let's begin with the questions, shall we?"

"Why, _Ms. Williams_, that is a _terrific_ idea!" Joe enthused sarcastically, but obviously she couldn't tell the difference between sincerity and sarcasm, because her face brightened; he decided to play along, if only for a few minutes, and let her think she had finally broken through. "Let's talk about you."

"Well," her face flushed a cotton shade of pink, "I was a miracle baby, born in June. My parents haven't had any children besides me; I work as a journalist for the _San Francisco Times_, and I have been for five years now."

"Hmmmmmmm," he smiled encouragingly, or what he thought must have been encouragingly, since he felt like it was bile swiped across his face, but her 'smiles of encouragement' that were always aimed at him from across a table to get him to talk about his past always looked like a dead ferret swiped across _her_ face, so one must assume that he had the correct expression. "And how old were you when you began to work there?" 

"I was eighteen years of age."

"Fascinating." He tried to worship her with his eyes. Unfortunately, the shrine was closed on Saturdays, and he only felt like taking a piss at the moment, so he tried to emulate an adoring look. It seemed to work. "And a man in your life?"

"Yes," she blushed that cotton shade once again and cast her eyes to the side modestly. "My fiance, Sydney. He's the most wonderful man ever! He's absolutely perfect; the most fantastic person I have ever met in all of my life!"

Not thirty more minutes had passed by before she had lost her pen in frustration, her glasses were _nearly_ askew, and her pillow was just as upset as his were the moment he appeared on the couch.

"Mr. Liebgott," she fumed, "I would advise you to not call me Lucy!"

"Why is it that the name bothers you so much, Lucy?" He asked without missing a beat, his lips quirking upwards in pleasure, although he wasn't sure if it was because he found the situation amusing or because he simply found getting underneath her skin a great way to pass two hours in comparison to her shooting question after question at him.

"It - it is _vulgar_!" She practically spat; she had never reminded him more of a cat, except this time she hadn't had her cream, and she was angry. Spitting angry. "_Vulgarness_ vocally produced! Although I don't suppose I could expect any better from _you_."

"Well, fuck, Lucy, I didn't know you held me in such high esteem," he drawled, stretching languidly once again, a smirk spreading like butter across bread. "You shoulda told me."

Actually, butter on bread sounded good. He hadn't had breakfast, he realized belatedly, promising himself that as soon as he received his liberty, he would treat himself to an early brunch.

Smoke might have floated out of her ears, but it wasn't a refined enough way of expressing her frustration, so she resorted to shooting lasers out of her eyes.

"I think we are quite done for today, Mr. Liebgott."

"Oh! Such _saaaaad_ news."


	5. Hot Damn

**A/N:** An amazing shout-out to **cHoCoLaTe-RuM, HeadbangGirl, the everchanging, gothique4,** and** CP2girls.**

I have no excuse. I'm sorry :( forgive me? I can safely promise the next update will be much, much quicker.

R + R? (:

**Chapter 5**** - Hot Damn**

One week. One week of poor, miserable business that seemed to repeatedly pay him underwage and hop out of the cab before he could realize it, let alone do anything about it; by the time he had gathered his savvy about him, they had disappeared into mingling crowds that seemed to be conveniently wandering around just where they needed to stop off.

Brilliant. Fucking _shining_.

The worst was a young prick who had paid him less than necessary _after_ forcing him to sit there next to a curb while he kissed his equally spoiled-looking girlfriend on the lips and told her that he would see her soon, after 'a little business' was taken care of.

Thus making him, the very irritated cabbie, late.

And on top of it all, he didn't possess a clue as to why he was standing in front of a huge building that had only ever caused him irritation and misery. Maybe it was because he needed the money, maybe it was because he needed an outlet to focus his anger and this particular person would be the perfect one to blast it all on; who knew? He didn't. Fuck, he only knew he was just standing there, staring at it, leaning his back against his cabbie and waiting for something. Waiting for what? Fuck if he knew that, too. Definitely not an invitation to enter, though.

The movement of pushing himself to stand straight and tall didn't take any thinking - the steps he took towards the house didn't either. The breezing past the contemptuous butler, maids, and any other servants in his path was just as instinctual as being hungry.

She was waiting for him; she knew he'd come, but not because of the reasons she'd thought he would come. His terms, his time, his words. His agony.

She wasn't wearing a smile. That only made it all the easier.

He had seated himself without invitation before he realized there was a man sitting beside her; a man who, in his dapper suit and his slicked back hair, looked to be quite the dandy. A young man whose babyface might have been considered handsome. A young boy who had never experienced pain in his life. A child that Joseph Liebgott could read with a single glance.

But perhaps that was because he had seen this young man before on a curb. Yes, a very distinctive face. It helped that the sharp-eyed Joe had seen him just that morning, making good to a brunette, not a blonde. A brunette with thin lips and eyebrows, without shape to her fur coat, just as her eyes had no soul in them, just as her lips were as red as blood. Blood that Pussyman had swiped off of his lips with a kerchief after finally stepping into the car.

This same Pussyman was now whispering intimately with his reporter. His. His Lucy. His.

"Well, Lucille," Pussyman mumbled into her skin, "it appears we have a visitor."

Well, it appeared that _Joe's_ Lucy was still _Joe's_ Lucy, seeing as how Pussyman was too unoriginal to give her a name. Or maybe he liked the feeling of cheating on a girl with a stuffy title. Babyfaces, they were all the same; completely worthless.

With those words, however, her eyelids, which had been closed in rapture, opened slowly.

**...**

And she beheld Joseph D. Liebgott sitting on a chair nearby, sitting. Sitting. Smirking. JUst sitting and smirking.

_Hot damn_, she thought to herself as her wide eyes took in the curling lips, the twinklingly sardonic eyes, the insulting amused tilt of his forehead. The forehead above imperious brown eyes.

_Caught_, those brown eyes told her. _Caught_.

And he watched her, with the possessiveness of a primal being caged within iron bars. Captured, but not captive. Silenced, but still roaring. Unconcious, and very much alive.

Her breathing quickened, and she told herself it was Sydney's nose on her skin, the knowledge that his mouth was about to kiss the same velvety material that he had been for the past fifteen minutes.

_Caught_, the eyes proclaimed.

_Hot damn, _her mind replied.

"Sydney," her voice came out of her mouth, the mouth that she hadn't realized was moving. "Stop. Sydney. Stop."

**...**

Stop, she had said. Stop. And yet Joe watched. This was the man she had worshipped and adored - the man she had mentioned even in Austria.

And he was as common a babyface as ever there was.

Somehow, he was disappointed. At least slightly. Her spitfire didn't match his rounded face. And the eyes that were pointed directly at him.

_Well, gahdamn_.

Since when did he notice that she had the perfect pair of bedroom eyes?

**...**

_Caught_.

His eyes stayed on her, even as she said goodbye to Sydney quietly, even as she sat back down from where she had walked him to the door of the room and then bade him farewell, even as she smoothed her skirt self-conciously before finding her notepad on the table.

She knew it would probably be useless, now more than ever.

"Mr. Liebgott-"

"My friends called me Joe."

It was the first information about him that she could recall ever having been volunteered. And she was in for a bigger surprise than she ever could have imagined, as those brown eyes examined her and her mind continued to replay that one thought; _Hot. Damn._

"I joined the Airborne for the damn money; why else would anyone join. Even the fucking crazies didn't want their brains splattered on the ground because their parachute wouldn't open." He was settled into the chair, as though he'd been born there. "Basic training was more than anyone ever fucking expected. We ran up and down a mountain maybe every other day if we were lucky, crawled through pig guts on Thanksgiving because some fucking officer wanted us to. And there was a girl."

A girl. All she'd known was that he was one of the men from Austria, one of the men with battle in their eyes, one of the men with hardness in their hearts, one of the men who had come a long way. But never one of the men who were the only men who had a woman in their company.

Easy Company.

"Every time I looked at her, her back was sweating, just like the rest of us, and Sobel, the fucking asshole, was training her even harder than the rest of us. She was like our own fucking Statue of Liberty; we looked at her and said, well, hell, if she can do it, by hot damn I can do it."

Hot damn. Hot damn.

**...**

Thirty minutes had gone by, and not a single word out of her mouth. The only focal point was her bedroom eyes, which widened as he began impounding each fact upon her soul, tearing into his own tattooed being to pain hers so that she could understand.

Because if he was fucking honest, he was tired of her innocence. He didn't want to have to see her face when she found out that her lovely babyface was cheating on her, was a good-for-nothing motherfucker, was a - well, a babyface.

And maybe when she got a taste of war in her bones, when she felt the shivers wrack her spine, when she felt the shrapnel pierce her skin, she would wake up and realize that things weren't going to be fucking perfect for anyone.

Thirty-five minutes and they had covered more ground than they had in the past three weeks.

She probably thought it was some modern miracle, the way he was staring her straight in the bedroom eye and telling her how it was to have the first taste of battle roaring in your blood, to have the airplane buzzing in your ears, the cannons firing, the spotlights searching for your plane, the uncertainty if you were going to live or die.

Forty minutes. Forty-five.

For the first time in fifty minutes, he lapsed silent and his eyes departed from hers.

**...**

No, she wanted to beg; no, don't stop now.

"But you wouldn't know about these things, now, would you?" His voice was quieter, fresh from the rising and falling of the action of a battlefield, from the blood-soaked words that accompanied the ack-ing of a machine gun, from the stained red grass that spread itself across entire nations. "You wouldn't know. Because of your fucking perfect world."

"That's not-"

"What did you think, Lucy?" He asked, his eyes coming back to hers, so she could see the emotion, whatever that emotion was, boiling up inside his eyes. Carnal. Pent up. Caged. About to be let loose. "When you got your job, what did you think; that they accepted you as a journalist and a reporter, and you were automatically high up because you were simply that talented, and so the fuck what, your daddy hadn't paid your way? Ha! Don't make me fucking-"

His hand ran through his hair, his tongue flicking over his full bottom lip. He looked away for a single second, and she felt an emptiness inside her chest from where she sat on the edge of her seat; she was overfilled, pouring over the second he looked back into her eyes as he stood abruptly from his chair and towered over her.

"And what do you think, that your precious Sydney is faithful and true when he has another girl stashed away somewhere? Yes, yes, that's completely faithful, love. Your father. Your mother fucking dotes on you, I bet. Because you're a good little girl like that, aren't you, Lucy? Yes, you're the type that a man can read at a glance. How can you be so fucking blind?" He hissed, finally, sweeping down so his searing eyes could burn into hers, nearly painfully. "Can't you see that your world is about to collapse, and your throat is going to close up, and someday, someday, your perfect little life will reveal itself to be a hoax."

And oh, how she hated him and his full lips for those words. How she hated the way that he could look into her soul with a single glance, pluck out her insecurities, and hold them to her chest the way that he had once held his gun to his chest.

His imperious finger pointed to the door, almost as if to signify the way that Sydney had left would be the undoing of her entire world.

"Can you see the light yet, Lucy? Can you see the light?"

She couldn't see anything through the moisture pricking at her lids. Of all the people to tell her such things, perhaps he was the only one she would believe. The world that came out of Joseph Liebgott's mouth was law.

Can you see the light, Lucy?

She stood and fled.

**...**

And running will not hide you forever. The bullets will hunt you down, dig in, prey upon your flesh, and all you can do is plead for mercy.

But mercy will not come.

And you must see the light before it is too late.

He showed himself out.


	6. Philosophies on a Battlefield

**A/N: **So. Thanks to **Heartbeats77, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, the everchanging, HeadbangGirl, CP2girls, AnImEwIlLRuLe, gothique4, Shockin'BlueEyes, austria** for supporting me into updating, regardless that finals start tomorrow and I should really be studying right now. Or every single minute that I spent writing it. It's not very long, because of that exact same reason, but I'm hoping it's going to be enough to tide you over. :)

Read + Review! (:

**Chapter 6**** - Philosophies on a Battlefield**

Her cheeks flushed crimson under the soft light, her eyes shifting from his torso to the ground, daring to peek up at his face for one second before jerking her gaze back in something akin to embarassment.

If he had been able to read minds, perhaps he would have read something along the lines of her wondering why he was there. Why, of all people, he was back.

The chair's cushions gave out with a_ whoosh_ of air as he sat down. She did not move; now her eyes remained steadfastly on the ground and her courage only allowed her to sneak a glance at his shoes.

The silence hanging in the air was so deadly quiet that they could hear the maids downstairs conversing about the state of the weather. It might have been an appropriate conversation for such a time as this, but she would not stir a finger and he did not know of what to speak.

Because all he knew was that he was so _fucking_ happy that Babyface wasn't back to kiss her neck and murmur claustrophobic words in her ears, but he had a feeling she would not appreciate that admittance and, in the end of things, neither would he. So what the fuck else was he supposed to say?

He opened his mouth.

**...**

_Why?_

Why?

Why was he there, why was he opening his mouth to speak, what did it matter? She knew it had to mean something that he had come back after what had happened the week before, but she could not muster herself to think about the situation that they were in - that he had placed them in.

If there was one thing she knew about his constitution, it was that he was not going to apologize.

And now he was opening his mouth; for all she knew, he was going to bury them deeper in the uncomfortable atmosphere. After all this, what in Hell's teeth could he have to say to her?

**...**

"All we knew about D-Day was that it was a fucking invasion and we were a part of it." His voice was low, silky; as dangerous as the gun he had once clutched, the grenades he had once pitched, the death he had once faced. Death he had almost embraced. "Letters as we packed our equipment; they gave us fucking sacks to tie to our legs and stuff our equipment in. Called the fucking things 'leg bags', made it impossible to move, and the airplane made it nearly impossible to breathe; you were packed in so fucking tightly, you couldn't move a single muscle, not a fucking single one. Found yourself falling asleep; all of a sudden, you wake up to a loud bang. In less than thirty minutes, there's so much flak flying through the fucking air, they drop you in the middle of the fucking nowhere, just so you have a chance at even fucking landing."

His long fingers dragged through his hair, his lips wetted by his tongue, pulled by his teeth; and yet the chair remained his throne, the only throne he could not be proud of. And yet he was still proud, with his blazing eyes and his spitting words.

He should have been a fucking philosopher.

And what did the world care? For all the world's care, they were still recovering from a fucking war.

Philosophies.

_Everything that we are, everywhere we are, all useless without the gun to your chest, without a helmet on your head, without the mindset that everything would eventually end - this battle, this war, this life._

Or so Joseph Liebgott thought to himself as his feet trampled the greenery, stampeding through in the rush to get to the sweet coverage of building. Coverage from gunfire, coverage from human sight, coverage from the pain of seeing your comrades, your friends falling onto the dusty road and taking their last breath.

Waiting. Yes, waiting, waiting, and yet waiting, for the angel of death to come and set him free from the barren landscape of battle.

If the world only ever listened to him, there would never be another war. There would never be any more destruction or reparations, dead men lying facedown in the snow, children crying in the streets, demolished houses and memories - there would never be another shattered soul.

And no one, not a single soul, would ever face the things he had.

Yet no one listened. No one believed him. Any one that understood were the people who were trying to reach out the exact same message to the people who had already forgotten and moved on with their rich and merry lives. People who only wanted to report a soldier's story because of the entertainment it would give to their newspaper's readers.

He didn't know what had ever possessed him to open his mouth in her presence and start pouring out his pain, pricking her with all the thorns he had obtained in his guarded soul. Perhaps it was the war he could see waging in her eyes. Internal, ever internal; anyone who had never seen what a battlefield looked like would think that those eyes were smiling, that those eyes had the world put together. And so he had thought, before he had looked closer into those bedroom eyes.

Even now he could see it in the eyes of the woman who now sat in front of him, perched on the edge of her seat, eyes still as fucking wide as the saucers she used as a plate underneath her afternoon tea. Eyes begging him to continue. How could he possibly continue?

**...**

His mouth stopped moving, the succulent lips halting and closing. His dark eyes challenged her to stand up and leave, to raise her hands and declare that she'd have no part in this, to become the person who minded being called Lucy. And she didn't; she couldn't. All she knew was that she somehow understood him better than she had understood anyone before, and that was enough for her to stay.

This time he didn't argue with her. Perhaps it was because he didn't feel like it, or perhaps because he could see the light dawning in her eyes. If only she could understand it.

Either way, he somehow saw through the expression of her eyes that he was her crux, her D-Day. And nothing inside of him felt like causing her bright eyes to darken even more than they were by such a morbid battlefield.


	7. Boiling Meat All Wrong

**A/N: **A huge shout-out to my faithfuls, the amazingness (who reviewed even though I posted in the middle of the beginning of the week); **HeadbangGirl **and **the everchanging**. :)

GOOD NEWS! I'M OUTTA FRIGGING SCHOOL! Whoop whoop. :)

IT'S FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY - yeah, I've had that song stuck in my head all day. Now it's your turn.

Okay. Enough chattering. GO READ. And maybe review. PRETTY PLEASE?

**Chapter 7**** - Boiling Meat All Wrong**

All anyone truly knew about Joseph Liebgott was he was a tough son of a bitch who disliked Nazis to the point of killing them. No one specifically figured him to be anything more. He could have his women, for all they cared - he could find one, he could kiss one, he could fuck one, nobody would care. But if he killed a single Nazi, well; that was a defining moment, in their eyes. That was a moment that they'd always remember. The moment that Joseph Liebgott killed another Jerry. The second, the minute, the hour that he lost another bit of his soul.

Defining moments in their minds. Never in his. If killing was what needed to be done, he did it. He was a soldier. That's what soldiers were supposed to do in his eyes. He was there to fight and if fighting required every inch of his being, every sap of strength in his bones, every spark in his eyes, every curse from his lips, and every piece from his soul, then by God he would give it.

Just don't let the Jerries win. Don't let the Jerries win.

**...**

"Who the fuck cared? We stayed alive." Smoke blew from between those gorgeous lips, smothering the air in wreathing damnation. "The higher ups certainly didn't give a fuck. For all they gave a shit, we were a good fucking weapon."

The profanities flew when he was in the thick of telling one of his stories, she would notice. When he was exasperated, when he was frustrated, when he was furious, when he was exuberant - when he was passionate. And if there was anything Joseph Liebgott was, it was passionate.

It had been weeks upon weeks since she had remembered to even so much as touch her notepad, let alone take the fucking notes.

**...**

"You'll be leaving?" She asked.

He recognized that tone; plaintive, wistful. She didn't want him to go.

And if he gave a fuck about her wishes, well, he'd bend over backwards and let someone stick their nose up his ass.

But he found he didn't want to leave either; where would the point have been? He certainly didn't have anything better to do at his apartment, and God knew he had the entire day sprawling in front of him. He'd seen Dani that week in the first place, and he had a feeling that if he turned up at the theater now, she'd make him watch a show or some shit like that.

Oh, fuck. He'd promised to come by the next day. Fucking Sunday. She'd made him promise, with some sort of threat that if he didn't, she would boil his meat all wrong whenever she cooked for him next.

Theatrical women.

He found himself not moving but for the finger that pulled away his cigarette from his mouth.

"Nah," he found himself saying.

**...**

"Nah," he repeated from where he languidly sprawled across a sofa. "I don't feel like moving."

She decided it was a compliment that he had nothing better to do than to lie on her sofa and smoke a cigarette.

And coming from Joseph Liebgott?

That was a _very_ high compliment.

**...**

**The following day;**

"Lucille, darling," came her mother's drawl from the room Joe had affectionately (or not so affectionately) nicknamed the death chamber, "who is that man who's always hanging around the house?"

She had almost forgotten her name. Lucille? Why did it sound like lace, suddenly? Stiff. New. Unused. Unfamiliar. Lace.

"He's not always hanging around the house, Mother," the reply came once 'Lucille' realized exactly what 'Mother dearest' was talking about. "And he's a soldier that I'm interviewing for an article."

"Ah. The cabbie trash?"

Suddenly, her breathing was rather loud in her ears, her heartbeat drumming in her veins, her mother's voice resonating within her head. Cabbie trash. Cabbie trash. Cabbie trash. _Cabbie trash_.

"Mother, I don't think that's exactly fair." She protested, trying her best to put a laughing tone into her voice so her mother would not realize how the title had gotten underneath her skin.

"Lucille. Are you quite all right?" Her mother's steps sounded along the wooden tiles, and suddenly she appeared at the doorway, a glass of champagne in her hand. "You've been acting rather odd recently."

What, just because she wouldn't call someone cabbie trash-

Although she could remember telling her mother exactly that title when, in her fury, she had been trying to describe Joseph Liebgott, fresh from their first interview. Cabbie trash. Cabbie trash. Cabbie trash. Cabbie trash.

_Cabbie trash._

"I'm fine. You know what? I need some air. I'm going to go down to the office to hammer out some more work. I have a few drops still in me that need to be squeezed out." She darted off of the sofa on which she sat, disappearing through a doorway before Mother dear could even open her lips.

Mother dear blinked in - what is the word? Surprise.

**...**

The only companion she had was the echoing of her own footsteps across the gravelly sidewalk. She wasn't sure exactly where those echoes were taking her, but she was desperately hoping that it was somewhere far, far away from her mother, her mother's words, herself, her footsteps, those horrible echoing footsteps -

Fleeing. She was fleeing. Fleeing into the night as fast as she could walk, as fast as her dignity would allow her. Fleeing.

Why was she so affected? It was only a title. Only something. And he was. But he wasn't. He was Joe. Her Joe. Not _cabbie trash_. How could she think of him like that now, when she had seen his eyes as he described his D-Day.

When she had looked into his eyes and seen his soul.

So she fled from her mother, the words, those incessant words, those echoing footsteps - she fled.

Cross a street. Up an alley. Down a street. Across the street. Cross a sectioning street. Down the street. Down the next street. Blinking lights.

A theater.

Maybe words would help her relax and forget the taunting title echoing through her mind. A title she herself had bestowed upon him.

She fled inside.

**...**

So there he was, minding his own fucking business, as usual. As fucking usual, as it always fucking happens, something happened; he looked over.

He was just innocently sitting in the audience, watching the actors onstage, waiting for Dani to return to her seat next to him so he could pester the hell out of her by making her laugh. He, being bored by not entertaining someone, looked over. And therein lay his fatal mistake; he saw her.

Of all people, then and there. Looking visibly upset, visibly distressed, visibly flushed, and did visibly not know he was there; Lucy. Of all people. No, she didn't know he was there. If she'd known and if she was trying to pretend as though she didn't notice and she wanted to pretend they were simply running into each other accidentally, she would have thrown him a few guilty peeks.

No, this was completely accidental; she just flopped into her seat in a manner that definitely did _not_ belong to Lucille Williams and stared at the stage with all the vacancy of someone _absolutely_ entranced by the storyline.

Looking around, he could see that everyone else was, in fact, absolutely entranced by the storyline. But not her.

Ah, what the hell, he was bored and tired of waiting for Dani to return anyways. What the fuck.

Before any reasons to avoid her could be reasoned out, he was nudging his way through the auditorium seats to reach her. It didn't take long; he preferred sitting on the edge of the aisle - it always made for an easier getaway - and she was sitting fairly close, if only about ten rows down the seating placement.

"Lucy," he hissed. "Lucy."

She turned. The absent look faded from her face. She smiled.

**...**

She found herself strolling down the sidewalk side-by-side with Joseph Liebgott. And he was different; now he didn't have his eyes burning with passion and fury and pain, now he had a sense of humor, now he was more laidback, and now he didn't have his feet kicked up with a pillow underneath his head.

"Why were you there?"

His shoulders shrugged, the coat that looked to be a couple sizes too big for him swaying along with the movement.

"A friend writes the plays, drags me into coming to one sometimes. Threatens me. Something about boiling my meat wrong."

"Brilliant."

"Yeah." A few more slow, luxuriant steps. "Hey, fancy a movie?"

**...**

Ah, fuck.

Why did she have to look so happy?

**...**

A typical romance with Cary Grant starring. And during the entire thing, he couldn't escape the memory of the ticket salesman winking knowingly at Joe. Or the thought that kept pounding through his head; _she don't hold a candle to Lucy._

As for Lucy, her thoughts pertained to the nature of the overbearing family Katherine Hepburn had to break free of in this particular movie. It reminded her strangely of her own family, her own house, hell, her own life.

The movie ended, as all things do. They stood up, they left, they walked outside, the ticket salesman winking once more at Joe as they walked past him. He found that he was holding her elbow, guiding her steps, ready to steady her if she tripped or slipped.

And he realized it was instinct.

"Thanks, Joe," she nearly whispered, "I needed that."

"You know something, Lu?"

They stopped walking for a moment, turning to face each other underneath the streetlights.

"Hmm?"

"That's the first time you've ever actually called me Joe."

She smiled softly.

He hailed a cab for her. They said goodnight. She got in the cab. The cab door shut and the car drove away, leaving Joseph Liebgott behind on the sidewalk, wondering if he'd had anything to drink that night - if he had, he'd had too much.

However, he had a feeling that he wasn't going to wake up the next morning with a God-awful hangover, and that this wasn't because of how many alcoholic beverages he'd consumed.

And he decided, as he walked down the sidewalk towards his own domain, that if there was any _good_ way to have his meat boiled all wrong, this would be it.

Of course, that didn't stop him from waking up in the morning, wondering what the hell was wrong with his brain.


	8. Continue

**A/N: **A million thanks to;

**Lilmonkey1507 - **thanks, sweetheart :) here's the next update haha

**heartbeats77 -** oh my goodness, thank you! You made my week! I'm sorry I couldn't update _immediately_, but I tried.

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM - **Aaaaaah I love your reviews! I feel like we're practically buddies because of how much you've encouraged me, and yet you don't even know me!

**HeadbangGirl -** thanks :D I LOVE YOU TOO! Haha, just kidding xD

**Audrey Jenkins - **'S all good :) and thank you! I love you even if you didn't leave me reviews for 7 long, grueling chapters... yes, I'm trying to make you feel bad! No, just kidding. Seriously.

**CP2girls - **This entire story is about Joe's tough exterior. xD I know, I'm so happy to be out of school!

**the everchanging** - Thanks :) I shall try my hardest to keep you happy! Joe doesn't particularly notice any change, however; he just thinks he's going insane haha.

I was listening to Neon Trees while tanning (SUMMER BREAK! YESSSSSSS!) and I heard this song and even though I'd heard this one line a million times before (I heart Neon Trees), I was like "...Liebgott."

SO; I am bringing my old friend The Lyric Master back from the dead; if a song inspires me, I will post it at the beginning of the chapter. Must cite sources and all that crap (Thank you, dear English teacher who shall not be named, for teaching me that.)

Also, I am perfectly aware that Joe was actually not Jewish. Got it. That's cool. I just want to make sure that you understand; I am not writing of the Joe Liebgott who married a woman named Peggy. No. I'm writing of the man portrayed in the Band of Brothers series, even if the portrayal was not specific to the details of the man who actually lived, breathed, and fought in the War. Just to make that clear.

(Plus, you know you just LOOOOOVE my long A/N;s xD)

Stay brilliant.

Read and Review. (:

**Chapter 8**** - Continue**

I liked a smoking gun

Back when I was young.

These are the sins of my youth.

**[Sins of My Youth - Neon Trees]**

**...**

His dark eyes stared intently at her from where he sat on a sofa across from her. She looked apprehensive; apprehensive, perhaps because he was not speaking and the air was silent with his quietness.

Neither wanted to break it, however, and both for different reasons; she was hoping he would speak. He was wondering if she would stand the sight of him after he put into vocal expression the things he had done and, ultimately, seen but not cared about. God knew she would probably kick him out of her house and refuse to see him ever again.

"We all knew we were there for a reason," he said without realizing he had begun to speak. His fingers began their usual mantra of pulling a cigarette out from his pocket and lighting it. "And when we arrived in Normandy, a few of us figured out that the reason we were there was to kill Nazis. The fucking bastards." He paused, taking a puff of smoke into his lungs and breathing it out into the otherwise stagnant air. "Everything was all about the fucking purpose for a few days; just the fucking purpose, the reason we'd been fucked over in the first fucking place. "Dani was stuck in a Kraut building in a town we liberated; she'd gotten so fucking lost, she'd gone to the wrong fucking town." A chuckle resonated from his throat, but it was only enough to distract her.

And she could hardly even believe that there'd been a woman in the Airborne.

"She still had her leg raised, kicking a window into fucking shards, see, and then she looked at me as if she was saying, 'It wasn't me, I didn't do shit.' As if she was afraid she was gonna get caught." By the filthy, fucking Krauts. "She had dirt and blood mixed together on her face; her ear was half blown up, she'd been beaten - " He blew a breath out of his lungs. He didn't know why the fuck he was talking about this. Why the fuck he was delving so deep into his own psyche, trying to make her understand. "And that entire time, she told them that she was a Kraut, just so she'd stay the fuck alive."

Stay the fuck alive. Wasn't that the mantra for the entire fucking war? A war that didn't need to happen in the first fucking place. And what war needed to happen? Who needed to see bloodshed, just to feel their hearts content?

Without needing to explain anything, he'd felt an indeniable fury that they had dared touch Dani in such a manner. And if they had ever knocked her out, God knew what they had done to her. For fuck's sake.

And it wasn't even the fucking beginning yet.

Carentan was what did it to him. Tipper. Holy fuck. To see a man one moment, whole, standing; the next moment, his eye is half dangling out of his fucking socket, mashed back into his face, his legs broken, his eardrums fucking busted -

To realize that one moment can break a man.

It was then that Joseph Liebgott came to the realization that killing a man was better than a man killing him. He considered it revenge for every man or boy - or Dani - that they might have killed before he had reached them. In their thoughts, in their minds, or in their bloody hands; every Kraut was guilty, as far as he was concerned, and thus deserved to be punished so.

Fucking Nazis.

**...**

She could see the war reflecting in his eyes.

If the philosophers said that the eyes were the windows to your soul, then she could see straight to his soul; and all she saw was a knowledge of violence and bloodshed. That was what haunted him at night; that was what invaded his dreams. That was what kept him from rejoining society as an untouched, innocent soul.

A soul doesn't have to be aged to be old and weary.

**...**

He could feel a headache coming on; a headache that might have been eminent for the past five years of his life.

"If only we had known," he mused aloud, "I doubt we would have joined up in the first place."

Hell, if anyone had known, there wouldn't have been a war for lack of soldiers.

Yes, it was there; the stabbing pain behind his temple, unreachable like an infuriating itch, yet there, everpresent, harshly grinding into his grain. He hadn't gotten any this bad since the war, since -

No.

Fucking Krauts.

**...**

She could see something was bothering him. It was obvious, written all across his dark eyes, his crinkled forehead, his drawn-together eyebrows, the way he leaned forward and, resting his elbows on his knees, laid his head in his hands.

And she did not know what would happen if she laid a single finger on him. What she had seen in his eyes had not surprised her, only warned her; she had seen a wild beast caged, and if ever she was to touch him, she was afraid that she would be the key to the lock that held his cage together.

The beast would come out.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, finally. "Mr... Joe? What's wrong?"

"Fucking headache."

Dare she?

"Whenever - " Yes, she dared. The words were coming out of her mouth, even if she never intended. She licked her lips, as if willing her lips to still the words. No, they would not be stilled; "Whenever I used to get a headache, I found it was soothing if someone read to me. Would you like...?"

What the fuck.

He didn't say anything; she took that as a sign that he didn't protest, even if he didn't necessarily agree.

**...**

He didn't know how long she'd been reading for. All he knew was that he didn't want her to stop. Her voice rose and fell quietly, in perfect rhythm, accentuating the exactly right words in the precisely correct pitch of tone. She had positioned him into a laying position on one of the more comfortable sofas. His headache, whether he preferred to admit it or not, had all but vanished. And she had been right. It was soothing.

Listening to her, he didn't have to think about everything that had happened in his life. He didn't have to take into consideration all the bullets shot from the end of the rifle, the stench of flesh burning, the feeling of tears shed by his own people dripping down his neck.

Listening to her, he didn't feel death breathing down his neck.

His eyelids had slid closed long ago, and he had kept them that way because he didn't care to open them. He didn't want to give away the fact that he was listening.

Her voice paused. No, he said on the inside, continue.

"Joe?"

He didn't reply.

There was a brief moment of silence as she pondered the thought that maybe he was asleep.

Just a brief moment, but enough to make him uncomfortable.

_Continue._

And she continued quietly, resuming her stream of words.

**...**

He wasn't quite sure how, but it was only when he awoke that he realized he had fallen asleep. He didn't say anything to apologize when he noticed her reading - silently, now, and definitely not the same book she had been reading aloud earlier - but when she looked up and noticed him sitting up from where he had been laying, she smiled softly.

The action surprised and disconcerted him so much, he slid off the sofa and, promising to return the next week, he made his escape as quickly as he possibly could; he was running away from the fact that for once, when he had given evidence of the struggle inside of him, the person listening had not run away.

So now it was his job to run away; the task fell to him, as much as the task fell to a lister to listen, or a speech-giver to give speeches.


	9. A Child Swimming

**A/N: **A thousand billion shout-outs to;

**Lilmonkey1507; **your review made my week. To know that I'm having a kind of impact lets me know that I'm on the right track somehow, and my writing isn't worthless. Thank you so much! (:

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM;** Yes, well, typical Joe, right? Never let anyone get too close.

**ruthie-r89; **I'm pretty sure I actually replied to your review, so I just wanted to say thanks again. It means a lot. (:

**the everchanging; **Joe, tell Lucy? No. But we're starting to get into that issue this chapter. (;

**CP2girls; **Me, proud of myself? Nah. I'm just trying to get better and better (: and thanks. I'm sorry I didn't ask you for permission, but I hope that you don't mind that I used your name as inspiration. :D

**HeadbangGirl;** Oh, you know Joe and Lucy too well already. Haha. Not this chapter, though. He's going to end up being a butt sometime, but not particularly this chapter.

So! I hope you like this one, and please, R + R, it will be appreciated to the bottom of my little heart. (:

**Chapter 9 ****- A Child Swimming**

If only he could have warned her further, perhaps he would have chosen to. And he had warned her. But how is a child supposed to swim when it has never touched water before?

**...**

It was a meaningless week for Lucille Vanessa Williams until Thursday afternoon. Thursday morning, she woke up, went downstairs to the den, and found her mother sipping her early morning tea while reading the newspapers. It was a familiar sight; it was this sight that she had woken up to every morning for most of her life, and it was this sight that originally encouraged her to become a journalist. Yes, of all sights, this one was one of the most cherished.

"Mother," she said as she nodded at one of the servants, signaling to go get the usual breakfast of quick eggs and toast. "I think I'm going to go down to the archives today and research. Joe - Mr. Liebgott, I mean - mentioned something about a woman serving with his company. Do you remember reading about anything that mentioned it?"

Mother Dear settled her newspaper in her lap, furrowing her brow in the daintiest of ways, and darting a look over at her daughter while Lucille Darling couldn't notice.

"Yes, I believe so; and what an outrage, too. Completely and utterly inappropriate. I would not be surprised if she is now a pin-up girl or some such," Mother Dear replied primly. "I would not research it, if I were you, Lucille Darling. A complete and total waste of time; all you need to know was she probably threw herself at each and every man in the - what did you call it; company? - yes, company. Let alone the entire unit."

"Now, Mother, I don't think you're being entirely gracious about it but I'm sure that she had a good rea - "

"Lucille. Do not stoop down to her level. You should be concentrating on planning your wedding, not chasing after some strange woman whose morals are far below yours."

"But she's fascinating, Mother! And I have most of the wedding done already. Sydney and I _have_ been engaged for four years, Mother." She simply couldn't take her mind off the concept of ladies jumping out of airplanes, and her voice showed it as it continued to marvel; "But for a woman to join the paratroopers - "

"Lucille."

"Yes, Mother." It was her turn to sneak a glance at the other woman while her mother was not aware. "But in any case, I believe that I shall go in to the office. I have some business that needs taking care of. Wedding invitations."

Falsehoods, falsehoods.

Two months before, Lucille Vanessa Williams would never have questioned her mother; if anything was pronounced 'unworthy' by her mother's voice and her mother's eyes, then she would have gone out of her way to avoid it. But this was not two months before; this was two months after the two months before period, and now Lucy Williams was not satisfied. A woman in the paratroopers!

The archives held copy upon copy of papers from long past, allowing any researcher to go back and find any reports on a subject they were looking up. If the researcher didn't know what date era any information had been published, then it was a long and grueling process of looking through paper upon paper simply to find a few facts.

But Lucy Williams was a determined woman and she knew exactly where to start.

"Important dates," she mused aloud to herself subconciously as she began scanning through the bins labeled by months and years. "What important dates - "

A caption caught her eye from where she was casually shuffling through the bin labeled 'February 1945' - **The Battered Bastards of Bastogne**, it read. A brilliantly triumphant smile spread across her face.

Victory.

**...**

It was only when she was done flipping through the article did she notice anything.

She was musing over the information she had found; the girl's name - Dani Shoemaker - had been mentioned because of the irregularity of a woman in combat, but no further information could be expected when the article was over the entire company.

Her fingers continued absently flipping through the papers of the three-year-old newspaper, continuing through the Society section, when a photograph caught her eye.

It couldn't be.

**...**

Joe Liebgott considered himself to be ontime for once as he strolled into the house, up the stairs, into the room designated. And there she already sat, waiting for him. She did not speak a single word as he came in, nor when he sat down.

Her fingers were shaking, her head pulled down, her shoulders tugged inwards, slumping hopelessly.

Fuck.

His eyes darted around the room to find the source of the problem, but it was nowhere to be found - until he saw the edge of a paper, stuffed underneath a pillow situated right next to where she sat.

"Lucy."

His voice made her jump, and her head flashed up so he could finally see her eyes; they weren't red. She hadn't cried. But there wasn't a light jumping in her iris; there wasn't a single bit of fire left alive for her soul to feed upon, for her soul to live on.

"Fuck, Lucy," he nearly whispered. "What happened?"

"What's her name?"

"Whose name?" He asked, confused.

"Dani Shoemaker. Her real name."

He drew a deep breath through his lungs, sighing into the empty space in front of him when he realized that he had reached his tidal volume and there was no room left in his air passages.

"Delvina. Delvina Argodale." His sharp eyes took in the nodding of her head, the lifeless bouncing of her curls, the sadness in her twisted fingers. "Lucy. What the fuck is going on?"

"I went down to research in the archives."

Leaning forward, his long appendages plucked the outdated newspaper from beneath the cushion it had hidden behind so insecurely. And, in a few short moments, read what she had memorized by heart, agonized over by mind, thought of since the moment she had found it.

At the top of the Society page, there was a photograph. A photograph of a young man holding a stylish young lady's hand. A babyface child who was far too tall for his wisdom level. The same babyface that had kissed her neck on the same couch upon which she was seated this lovely day.

Joe cast his eyes up to her, questioning.

"We've been engaged for four years." She whispered, the incessant twining together and untwining of her fingers becoming more and more frantic. She was trying to escape. "He proposed on June 5, 1944."

And the stylish young lady in the photograph had absolutely no resemblance linked to Lucille Vanessa Williams. Her name, as stated in the announcement, was Lady Charlene Kirk of the family of Lord Percy Kirk from Britain; he had moved to the States only a few years before war broke out and quickly made a place for himself in society.

"He said we could keep it a 'grand old secret.'" She continued softly. "He said no one else needed to know because it was no one else's business."

"Fuck." He stood up and began pacing back and forth across the carpet. "Why didn't you know when the newspaper came out?" 

"I don't know."

"Think, Lucy. _Think_."

Her eyes closed, her mind scrabbled for the memory.

"I had wanted to read the newspaper," she began slowly, "but my mother had been reading it, and insisted that she wasn't done with it. Then I went to work. And when I got back, I'd completely forgotten about it."

"Does she read it from cover to cover?"

Her blood fell out of her cheeks, her eyes widened, her hand snatched the paper out of his hand, and she was gone out of the room. All he could do was follow her down the hallway, down the stairs, around the staircase, into a room on the left of another hallway; a room that was too elegantly draped for his tastes.

"Mother," her voice called innocently. "Mother _dear_."

"Yes, Lucille, darling?"

Lucille, Darling was not happy.

"Mother, have you ever seen this newspaper before?"

Lucy abruptly thrust it in her mother's face, the newspaper folded to show the exact picture she had scrutinized for the past two days.

Her mother's hand paused from where it held the dainty tea cup to her lips; she looked at the photograph for one second, her eyes showing that, indeed, she had seen it, and then the guilty eyes traveled up to Lucy's face, not bothering to look to see exactly who was standing behind her.

Only one word fell from her lips.

"So?"


	10. Smiling Betrayal

**A/N; **A loud, really, really loud scream of a shout-out to;

**Lilmonkey1507;** Yes, yes, drama ;) haha. But that drama comes later, sadly enough. There are explosions of drama coming up. Eventually.

**gothique4;** Thanks for the idea :D I'm going to have to put that in the story, and then dedicate the idea to you or something, haha.

**hope-against-faith;** thanks! (:

**Heartbeats77;** OF COURSE SHE'S GONNA MEET DANI, IT'S DANI, I MEAN, COME ON, IT'S DANIIIIIIIII. (: Lawl. Dani plays a huge part in this. I'm just warning you. Like, huuuge.

**ruthie-r89;** No, the woman in the picture isn't Dani. It's someone named Charlene Kirk [who will come into play later], and I guess I kind of explain in this chapter how Dani played a part in it. And don't be distressed by Lucy they're hard suckers, they'll pull out of it. Thanks. (:

**HeadbangGirl; **Lawl. Good wow, bad wow? :p

**littlebabydevon;** AAAAAH, I HAVE MISSED YOU! It's all good :) I completely understand that. And I did write more. xD

**CP2girls; **I had a feeling you'd like that name ;D haha. And thanks!

**the everchanging;** Yeah. That's kinda my point, I guess; this stuff actually does happen. The monsters in the eyes, the horrible mothers - things happen. Joe makes people change ;) haha.

Well. This has been a long week. If this is a short chapter, I do apologize; I was off at youth camp. I got grounded [cough, for going on a date, cough] and so now I don't have a computer to write on, so I'm temporarily stealing my brother's. Blaaah. He has a frigging loud keyboard.

Anyways. Please, Read + Review and make my captivity better? Pretty please?

**Chapter 10**** - Smiling Betrayal**

Despite his obstinacy, his stubbornness, and his general rule of not caring, there are a few things that Joe Liebgott knew; and one of these things was how a human being acts when enraged. The way Lucy's eyes glimmered, the way the color returned far too quickly to her previously pale cheeks, the way her hands clenched together into fists by her sides, the way her body tensed up as though it was a spring coiled, about to burst -

She was a weapon of mass destruction now; atomic, more potent than he had seen another being be since the war.

Lucy Vanessa Williams was dangerous.

And this dangerous weapon stared down at her indifferent mother with all the fury of a thousand tornadoes. Joe had been confronted with this look far too many times; he had seen it on comrades, on foes, and hell; he had worn it himself. It was the expression that let the room know that blood would be spilled, shit would go down, and fuck, if there was anything you could do to stop it.

Blood, red blood, scarlet blood; life source. It was a murderous look.

He touched her elbow, at a loss for anything else to do; she turned, forcing the fire of her gaze upon him. Another man would have winced, cringed, shriveled to dust, or apologized.

He was not another man.

"Come on," he whispered, "she's not worth it. Come on."

The words were fighting words, enough to cause her mother to rise out of the chair as if this was the greatest insult ever handed to her.

"What did you say -"

But Joe didn't spare the woman a single glance as he laid a hand in the small of Lucy's back, perhaps to give her direction, perhaps to let her know that she wasn't alone. Perhaps because it was simply right.

And all Lucy knew was that the red haze was disappearing as that comforting hand in the small of her back gave her small, reassuring gestures as they walked out of the room, down the hallway, past the stairs, through the door, outside, ignoring the screeches coming out of the mouth of the woman who proclaimed that she "would not be called worthless by cabbie trash."

**...**

All she could hear in her ears was her mother's screams of cabbie trash; and that was all - not the sound of the engine running underneath her, not the sound of the automobiles passing by her as she stared vacantly out the window. She hadn't asked Joe where they were going and he hadn't volunteered the information.

Joe.

She looked over to glance at his expression, but the look she gave him was not a glance. He caught her.

**...**

All Joe could think of was the woman seated on the other side of the seat; her movement as she peeked over at him told him that she was now no more dangerous than a butterfly, and it was as if she had never been more.

He cleared his throat slightly, hoping she'd take the hint that he was not about to begin talking and if there was to be a conversation, she was going to have to start it, but it was as though she never heard him as she continued in the intense study of his face and the secrets it held.

They arrived; the automobile pulled to a stop, and finally, Joe looked over to find those eyes aimed directly at him. They stared at each other for a moment, he bearing a neutral expression, and she wearing one of a surprised nature, knowing that she had been caught in her sin of staring.

But surprise was a reflex that she got over quickly, and when she had achieved that, she managed a soft smile. Now it was Joe's turn to stare, yet she didn't seem to notice as she opened her door and slid out of the car.

All he could wonder as he followed her out of the automotive was; _how the fuck is she still smiling?_

**...**

Joe's apartment was rented from a lazy old lady who didn't care enough to take care of it, and it showed. The furniture was either threadbare or sagging, possibly both.

All Lucy really thought as she looked around was that she had never really thought of Joe as poor; his pride didn't allow it. Somehow, he carried himself with a fire that never allowed someone to consider his amount of wealth, or lack of.

She sat down on a couch absently, opening her mouth after a few moments of silence.

"She always told me that... that I could do it, you know? When I told her that I wanted to become a journalist, she was the one who encouraged me." Her hands were twisting together again; her eyes were glancing downwards to avoid his knowing gaze, the same knowing gaze that was pointed directly at her, even as he stood above her.

Somehow, she didn't have to say any more. Even without looking up at him, she somehow knew that he understood - so much so that if she had truly thought about it, it might have frightened her.

The sofa depressed, creaking before settling and growing silent at the new weight added on by Joe's act of sitting down next to a girl who was still twisting her fingers. He didn't say a word as his eyes focused on the patterns her digits were creating, and she chose that moment to glance upwards at him. A sad sort of smile crossed her face, more of a smirk than anything else.

"Mothe - _she_ always told me not to fidget. Sometimes she called it my only flaw. But she always seemed to find another fault, so it can't be the only one, right?"

For the first time, he spoke, his voice emerging from his larynx with all the huskiness of a man who had not truly spoken in years;

"Don't listen to her. She doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about."

**...**

Cabbie trash, his ass.

And Lucy. Lucy. For the first time, he looked at her and perceived her to be beautiful, with her blonde locks and large, dark green eyes, with her full lips and high cheekbones.

And Joe Liebgott had not thought of another woman being beautiful since her. Since the woman he'd always known was off-limits, since the woman he had known from the very beginning was off-limits.

She was another man's girl.

**...**

When betrayed, a woman wonders how her own mother could do it, could do such a thing. And, in the end, her mind is a blank, her thoughts undefined except by the movement she makes with her own body. To trust someone completely, so completely as to follow their advice to the letter in consistancy with a matter of life and career - and to lose that trust completely -

Earth-shaking, ground-breaking, mind-hollowing.

These were the thought running through Lucy Williams' mind as she twisted her fingers around, around, around. Around.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This couldn't be how it _was_ just because it was. If there was one thing that Lucy knew right then and there, it was that it wasn't supposed to be like this. She didn't know anything else, any other experiences, but her own _mother_ -

All her life, she had lived with a woman, called her Mother, let her inspire the life she had led and the course her career had taken, and she had thought that her Mother Dear loved Lucille Darling.

There had to be a kind and loving motice, but for all her searching, she could not find a single one.

**...**

He could see the emotion written across her face, playing in her eyes, drowning in her lips, whispering through the pads of her fingers as they whispered around, around. Around.

And if he had a choice, he would bitch-slap the fuck out of the shitty excuse for a woman who claimed to be the biological mother of a young girl who was too good to be stuck with such a woman. Yeah. Bitch-slap the living daylights out of that hoity-toity, high-end fuck-up of maternal instincts.

Cabbie trash, his ass.

"Fuck her, Luc." He murmured, somehow knowing that his fingers making contact with her skin would help communicate his meaning. "She's not worth it. Fuck her."

The glimmer was back in her eyes, but this time, it wasn't of anger. This time, the anger was replaced by sadness, and the glimmer wasn't from a dangerous human being, but a human in danger of crying. And somehow, Joe knew that Lucy wasn't going to cry. Maybe once, two months before, she would have. But she was not the same creature she had been two months before.

"The reason I asked about Dani's name," she said, rubbing at her eyes and focusing desperately on Joe's touch to keep from crying, "was that she was the reason I found the photograph in the first place. I was fascinated by her; I wanted to know more. Then I realized that I couldn't find her anywhere because she'd probably changed her name so she could join."

Then she finally fell silent once again, her fingers stilling as she realized Joe's hand was rubbing soothing circles on her arm.

"Would it make you feel better if you met her?"

Her eyes grew large as she stared at him incredulously, too caught up in disbelief to believe what she thought her ears had just heard, yet hopeful that she had heard right.

**...**

_Her smile is welcoming,_ Lucy registered in her mind absently as she found herself shaking hands with the woman who was infamous for serving in the midst of men - the woman who reporters had tried time and time again to find but repeatedly failed. And all the information that was stored was; _she doesn't __**look**__ like a pin-up sort of girl._

The woman's handshake was warm, firm, comfortable, confident, her voice was smooth, even, and a pretty smile was on her lips.

**...**

With a small, absent smile, Joe heard Lucy's voice in his mind, resonating through again as he recalled what she had said; _I was fascinated by her._

Only one thought resonated through his own mind before it was silenced and trampled to the ground; _Aren't we all?_


	11. Lovely Impressions

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to the brilliant, the glorious, the gorgeous;

**Heartbeats77; **Haha! Punching the air is the absolute best. I hope you're not disappointed that I couldn't update immediately, but I did try. And hey, at least I'm ontime, right? xD And thanks, dear (: it means the world to me!

**CP2girls;** Well, no, still grounded. And don't the chapters always wax too short? haha.

**Audrey Jenkins;** Oh, I GOT some! No, I'm just kidding haha xD Awwwwwwwwwwwwwh! That has to be the single most sweetest thing anyone has said to me in like, so frigging long! I started blushing when I read it. xD I work and work and work on my writing. You have no idea. And I decided I loved Dani too much to not let her have in on this one (the best thing; she's key in the plot). Thanks, dear! Ex oh ex oh and hearts and hugs and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Happy screams. (:

**Auluna** and **dudeurfugly; **I hope you're enjoying it so far! Let me know if there's anything I can work on (:

**HeadbangGirl;** Liebgott? Ensnared by Dani? And that's... trouble? Nooooooooo... okay, yessssssssss. xD Haha. Can you pretty please tell me what you think about this chapter (and I need you to especially, since you brought it up). Eeee! Happy screeching noises. Dani's baaaaaaaaaaaaaack. YAY. RLONLDKJF. :D

**ruthie-r89;** Lucy's bound to love Dani. I mean, who doesn't, right? haha. The entire feelings-for-Dani-on-Liebgott's-side... well, you weren't tired, I'll put it like that. Just hurry up and go read haha. And tell me what you think! (:

**AnImEwIlLRuLe**; I copied and pasted your name because I was too lazy to actually type it out tonight. xD OHMYGOODNESS GRACIOUS I HAVE MISSED YOU! If you haven't heard, I got grounded, therefore my phone is taken away, and... well, if you've texted me and I haven't texted you back, there's a reason and the reason is because I don't have my phone. Gr. Parents. Anyways. I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it xD and I love Dani more than you do, so ha. :p

**EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WHO BOTHERS READING THE AUTHOR'S NOTES;** Hi. :) I'm still grounded. Sniffle! But I have my (paid-for, bought by hard earned money that I worked for myself) laptop back. Not my friends, life, phone, or any contact with the outside world except facebook (and we all know how facebook is, right? I mean, come on.)

So, cheer up my miserable and lonely existance and Review this crap so you can make my day and put a joyful smile on my sad-before-I-got-your-review face? (:

**Chapter 11**** - Lovely Impressions**

Lucy wasn't exactly sure how she had gotten seated - all she knew was that the woman across from her, the same woman who had called herself 'Dani Shoemaker' as an alias so she could join the army, was not exactly what Lucy had been expecting, even if she wasn't even sure what she _had_ been expecting in the first place; perhaps a woman with wild eyes, carrying a gun, and wearing a uniform. Perhaps even what Mother Dear had led her to believe; a woman with her legs wide spread, her lips pursed around a lolipop, and jutting her hip out on a street corner.

What Lucy did kno was that whatever she _had_ been expecting, Delvina Argodale exceeded it, high and above. Her smile was bright, her stance easy, her laughter free, her voice smooth, and her words clear. The only indication that she had done what soldiers had done and seen what changed men had seen were her eyes; soft eyes, sad eyes, haunting eyes. They were eyes that stayed with you for your entire lifetime.

"Joe," she said with a welcoming smile that made it clear she was happy to see him. "I thought you weren't coming by today. What gives?"

Joe, being Joe, only gave a thumb-jerk in Lucy's direction as an answer. It was only when Dani raised an eyebrow to indicate that she needed more than this answer that he actually bothered opening his mouth.

"She's a reporter. Her mother's a bitch. She found the idea of a woman in paratroops - fuck, what was the word - fascinating."

And this woman, this admirable creature, took it all in perfect stride.

"Older females blow," she offered as sympathy to the less war-wise woman. 'Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

"You're so _helpful_, Dani," Joe's silky voice interrupted sardonically. "I was expecting at least a hug or, fuck, I dunno, a pat on the back or something."

"You came too early in the morning for that treatment, Joe," Dani retorted instantly. "Kindness is administered at twelve hundred hours and after, not before; if you come before, you get stuck with a sympathetic smartass."

"Fuck, I just remembered why I don't like seeing you."

The smile on his face said otherwise.

"Ass, stop interrupting my therapeutic abilities," she mumbled before turning back to Lucy. "I'm sorry you have to bear his company. He's a pain in the ass regularly."

"I make up for it sometimes," Joe's velvety voice massaged Lucy's ears as he followed Dani's advance upon poor unexpecting Lucille.

"Rarely."

"Better than never."

"Anyway. I'm sorry, dawling, I forgot your name."

"No, I think that's jut because Joe never introduced us." A smile spread across Lucy's lips unconsciously. "I'm Lucy."

She hadn't realized it was her first time speaking since laying eyes upon Dani Shoemaker until Joe whistled and spoke once more;

"She speaks."

"You're a jackass, Joe," Dani retorted without taking her eyes off Lucy as she extended her hand for Lucy to shake again; it was a firm handshake, confident, relaxed. Almost carefree, unless you looked into her eyes.

Those eyes.

She was even more fascinating in real life than she was in description.

**...**

They spent hours with Dani, doing nothing and yet everything. They helped make adjustments to the stage for the performance that evening. Lucy soaked in the soothing quality of Joe's voice bickering with Dani's as her exhausted eyes closed and her head leaned back against the chair. But Joe's bantering wouldn't allow her to comtemplate the notion of sleep, so she opened her eyelids again and observed.

The stage was almost set; the curtains were drawing closed and opening again to test before the night's show. And the look in Joe's eyes as he gazed at the oblivious Dani made Lucy look twice.

It wasn't until he bid farewell with the excuse of not wanting to see the actual play that Lucy even opned her mouth to say anything, let alone point it out to the clueless Ms. Argodale.

"Come visit me again, Lucy!" Dani told her enthusiastically while giving her a farewell hug. "And next time, don't bring Joe; he does enjoy talking too much. He tends to leave people out of conversations." She sent a teasing wink Joe's way before she turned and strode off to continue directing the activity surrounding the set. "James, do you enjoy breaking the drops or is it just a dreary hobby you've picked up along the way?"

"What are you talking about, it's my favorite hobby, Dani!" The reply came floating back, and her laughter resonated through the theater room.

"I couldn't tell."

**...**

It was a quiet sort of peace that settled in the cab on the way back to Joe's apartment. And it was only when they reached the apartment, after they had passed through the creaking door and over the loud floorboards, when Joe was shrugging off his jacket; it as only then that he spoke.

"What'd you think?"

"She's quite a woman."

"She is," his smoky voice agreed quietly.

"You love her, don't you?"

The sharpness of the turn of his head and the look he gave her was all the answer she needed, bu yet he still opened his mouth.

"We all did, I think." Then his head turned back and he began to struggle with the first button on his shirt collar, but yet this time, his mouth kept moving. "And we all stayed back because she was another man's girl." The button came uundone and his lithe fingers moved on to the next one. He didn't realize he was opening his mouth until his voice once again broke the silence; "And what about you?" That Babyface -

If she loved _him_, that idiot of a young boy excuse for a 'man', then gahdamn if he wasn't going to be disappointed in the female race.

"I thought so," she replied softly, thoughtfully. "Honestly, I thought I loved him. But now I think it was only because my mother encouraged me to have affection for him, and I guess I kind of felt like I should."

Well, he had already known that her mother was a stupid bitch, so that wasn't a surprise.

They dropped the topic after that, and Joe should have been able to stop thinking about it, yet he couldn't; his mind wandered over and over that one question. Her voice kept asking, inquiring, questioning; _You love her, don't you?_

Driving himself mad, that was all. Driving himself mad.

**...**

Even in the silence, her mind lingered on the newly discovered information. She would have liked to not think about it, even as she curled up with the book she had borrowed from Dani. However, she found that she couldn't concentrate on the book's pages; instead, all she could sense was the movements of the man across the room and the feelings inside of her chest. And she knew exactly what those feelings were; but she didn't know why she felt disappointed - but it was more than disappointment, somehow. Somehow, she had the strangest feeling of being let down.

**...**

Without warning, darkness fell across the sky. Lucy waited with dread for Joe to glance at the clock and announce that she should be getting home.

The seconds ticked on, however, and the minutes passed by, and nothing was said. Finally, Joe's long limbs stretched out and his mouth opened into a luxurious yawn.

"Would you prefer the couch or the bed?"

The question disoriented her as efficiently as a dizzy spell. What in the world was he talking about -

Oh, she realized as he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her answer; oh. He meant that she spend the night.

The first thought that crossed her mind was; what will Mother say? And then she realized that her mother was not exactly the best person to think of when considering a decision between a couch and a bed. Mother Dear would undoubtedly tak the bed from "cabbie trash." But Lucille Darling was not Mother Dear and she did not like the idea of invading someone's house and then demanding their bed as well.

And there was still the matter of propriety and whether or not she would even sleep over or not; if Society, that great and roaring beast, found out -

Then again, why or how would anyone find out in the first place? And if anyone _did_ find out, was it really any of their business in the first place?

"Couch," she answered.

An unexpected and relatively called-for - in her opinion - smile crossed his face.

"I wanted to know what you'd choose. Take the bed."

"No, I couldn't poss-"

The look he gave her silenced her quickly; it was a look that told her she might as well give up the fight now because she would lose anyway. It was a look that had won the war.

"Fine," she muttered, giving him a fake pout.

**...**

The couch gave him strange dreams, he decided when he woke up. All he could remember was _her_ voice pounding inside his mind once again; _You love her, don't you?_ And then his own thoughts conquered her voice and all that was left were dark green eyes.

If he loved Dani, why -

No. He couldn't start doubting himself now; he couldn't doubt something that he'd firmly believed for three years.

But if he did, why did he get a twinge in his stomach whenever he saw Lucy, and the only reaction to Dani was the feeling of being - oh, fuck, there was no word for it. Happy, secure - no. Ah, that was the word - it was the feeling of being familiar, he supposed. Dani was more his home than his own apartment was. She was closer to him than he could remember anyone else being, simply because she'd witnessed the sleepless nights he'd suffered through at the theater because he didn't know of anywhere else to go, didn't have anywhere else to go. And she had been just as sleepless as he was.

All he knew was that he would die for her; without a second thought. Then another thought crossed his mind that shook him to the point that he realized there was a chance he had been wrong for three years;

_Wouldn't you die for any __one__ of your comrades?_


	12. Dogs and Irons

**A/N;** The response for this last chapter blew me away. Therefore, _this_ chapter is dedicated to the fabulous;

**Lilmonkey1507;** It did put a smile on my face (: thank you! Yeah, haha, I decided that I loved Dani too much to not bring her into this; she's a key player in Lieb's later life and I felt like if she was key, then she couldn't very well stay inconspicuous.

**CP2girls; **Yeah. There's going to be more detail coming up on how Lieb feels about Dani and why in some later chapters (:

**Shockin'BlueEyes;** Noooo, they don't acknowledge their feelings for a while yet :p Joe's still a stubborn bastard. Dani's man is George Luz, haha. I would love to incorporate some of the other characters from Band of Brothers, except Joe wasn't exactly social and almost no one knew where he was. At this point in time, it was mainly Guarnere. But thank you so much! Your review made me feel all sparkly and gooey inside haha. :D

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM; **No, Lucy's not really getting the wrong idea. Lucy sees what Joe feels, but she's not all up in his head, so to some extent, she is right. She doesn't know about how Dani feels quite yet, but that will come eventually.

**HeadbangGirl; **Yes, RLONLDKJF :p I was so excited, I bashed the keyboard. Wait. You just called me a grounded idiot and I started laughing; I think you're right and I _am_ a grounded idiot... noooo! ANYWAYS. I love how well you get this story :D but Lucy isn't QUITE in love with him. She's more - I don't know how to say it - attached. She has this special thing with Joe, and she didn't have any idea that Joe has something special with someone else, so it's kind of... you know? It's hard to put it into words. Anyways; I loved your review. It put a huge toothy grin on my face, me, the grounded idiot. Rofl. Thanks, dear.

**dudeurfugly; **Ah, thanks, dear! It's so appreciated, I can't even tell you! (: I would describe the intricatality (that's not a word...) of all three of these characters, but you already understand them pretty well, I'd say. :D I'm honored, so honored I'm going speechless right now haha. I just don't know how to express myself when it comes to gratitude. But thanks! :D

**the everchanging;** haha! You have to love Joe and his inner turmoil. Thanks, dear (: I only write for you guys, honestly. I get an idea, and I would abandon it, but then I get on my e-mail and I'm like oh holy crap, I have reviews? Thanks so much (:

**Audrey Jenkins; **I know right? I never thought Joe would be in love with Dani either! But then I realized that he was in and I was like o_o OH MY. I don't know where I come up with these 'amazing plots', as you put it :P I think they come up with me, if you know what I mean. Thanks, dear! :D

**ruthie-r89;** You always inspire me to add more twists :D I don't know why. But in any case, Joe thought he was in love with Dani because she was like his home, and he always associated that feeling with love. That's about as much as it all boils down to. I hope you enjoy this next one. (:

**XPoisonButterflyX; **Awh, thanks, dear! (: I'm not even sure how to respond to your reviews, they were so amazing! I can't tell you how flattering it was to hear that someone's addicted to one of my stories xD I've had that same feeling imbedded inside of me, and I can't believe that I'm giving that same feeling to someone with my writings. Thank you!

**TO EVERYBODDDDDYYYYY; **I love you guys. Sniffle. I've been better than I was this week, but your reviews and encouragement and just all-around LOVE got me through. I can't express to you how much I appreciate it. This chapter is inspired by something that happened in the past month; I'm still trying to get past it, and I was thinking about it only a few nights ago, and it bore this baby. Enjoy. Read & Review? (:

**Chapter 12**** - Dogs and Irons**

It was Thursday when the phone rang; five days after meeting Dani and officially six days into the week, the last day before the last day before the weekend - it was _this_ day that the phone decided to begin emitting noises to signify that someone wanted to talk to someone living on that side of the electric waves system.

And the answer they received to their persistent patience was a velvet voice saying, "Joe."

It was a voice that Lucy could hear from the next room over, where she was attempting to learn how to iron clothes without burning the apartment down. And so far, it hadn't burned down, so there was some success in her well-meaning efforts.

"Lucy," Joe called from where he stood next to the telephone, "Dani's on the phone, says she wants you."

Now, where to put the iron?

**...**

Joe heard a faint yelp and a thump from where he was chatting amiably with Dani, waiting for Lucy to come to the phone.

"Hang on, Dani. I think a dog just died."

His hand set down the telephone receiver on the nearest surface and his feet carried him over to the doorway that looked into a room; the same room that Lucy had abruptly and mysteriously disappeared into only a few short minutes before.

The sight that met his eyes was enough reason for him to begin laughing uproariously. There Lucy stood, sucking on her middle finger with a sad expression on her face and what looked to be smoke rising from behind her. If someone had to hazard a guess, they probably would have said that her hair was on fire.

"The iron was - and I put - and my finger was-" She tried to explain while still sucking on her finger, but Joe simply could not stop laughing long enough to listen to her feeble attempts.

Finally, she pouted, gave up on trying to make herself heard, walked past him into the other room and, still sucking on her finger, picked the phone up from where Joe had set it.

"Hewwo?" Speaking into the phone around her finger didn't work out so well, so she reluctantly took it out and tried again. " I mean, hello?"

"Lucy? What's wrong? Joe said something about a dog."

She cast an offended look towards the room that occasional peals of laughter were still emerging from.

"Nothing, nothing, everything's fine. What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to get away from Joe and see one of the plays tomorrow night or something."

"Uh, sure!" Lucy said quickly, casting distracted glances towards where Joe was now leaning against the frame of the doorway, an amused smirk planted firmly on his face. "Sounds great. What time?"

"Come to the theater around sixteen hundr - uh, I mean... four o'clock, if you can. Maybe we can grab dinner, too, afterwards."

They said their farewells and the earpieces went back on the hooks.

"Well?" Joe asked. "What did she have to say to you that was so important, you had to burn yourself in order to hear it?" The corners of his mouth twitched upwards madly; he was struggling to keep from laughing again.

"She wants me to come over tomorrow around four."

"Don't cook."

His lips were still twitching. She sent him a glare that was supposed to be intimidating; needless to say, the glare didn't do its job, since his low chuckle still reached her ears relentlessly.

**...**

"So, any girl-talking that needs to be done?" Dani asked; rather than answer, Lucy took a moment to soak in her bustling surroundings.

The sound echoing around the streets was the melody of car horns honking, of hot dog peddlers selling their wares, of people strolling on the sidewalks, chatting.

"Not really," Lucy finally answered, not looking over to meet her companion's eyes.

"What, Joe hasn't been a bitch?" Dani asked in disbelief, taking a bite from her hot dog. "Surprising."

"True," Lucy acqueiscenced, smiling a little, finally.

"Hallelujah, a smile! The sun has come out from behind the clouds and graced me with its presence!" Dani exclaimed, throwing her arms up towards the sky with jubilee, earning another smile, this time a larger one. "But," she added, turning serious, "if there's anything..."

Lucy nodded, and there was silence; Dani knew something was on Lucy's mind, and Lucy didn't know how to put it into words. So there was silence.

Until Lucy broke it.

"You're not married, are you?" The answer was a shake of the head and a distant look to Dani's eyes, so Lucy continued. "I was going to be. His name was Sydney Calliote, and he was pushed onto me because he was rich and my mother knew it would be an advantageous marriage. So she convinced me to be in love with him, and I conned myself into falling for it." She smoothed the area beneath her eyebrows, as if dissipating wrinkles; the truth was, it was her way of trying to clear her mind. "Don't you just love how we are so incomparably blind?"

"Adore it." Dani noted the sardonic tone in Lucy's voice; there was more.

That's how Lucy found herself pouring out the story to Dani, who took it all in without saying a word; instead, she just ate her hotdog and nodded encouragingly during the pauses in the story that occurred while Lucy gathered her thoughts.

"Men are such jackasses," she finally said at the end.

"That they are." Lucy agreed, finally taking a bite out of her hotdog, which she had abandoned eating during the telling of the story. "He even got my mother in on it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Like I said; older females blow."

Dani took another bite, and was so interested in her chewing that she almost missed the next phrase that Lucy mumbled out around her own hotdog; "Most females period blow."

"How do you mean?" Dani questioned, turning to look at her, in disbelief that something _else_ could have betrayed the poor girl. But before, there hadn't been any real hint of sorrow, no real tangible clue that it was hurting on the inside, and it hurt more with every heartbeat.

Now the tears had arrived and were swimming in her eyes, now her hands began trembling, now the heart inside of her chest showed to be broken.

"You know the best part?"

"Tell me."

A single tear dripped out, and then another, another, another; her cheeks were wet, and her shivering lips could barely wrap themselves around the words that came out.

"The woman he was cheating on me with was my best friend."

**...**

The resturaunt was crowded and noisy, as it always was on a Friday night. It was finally the weekend, and no one had a thing to say about it except if they were celebrating.

"So, Luc," Joe's velvet voice drawled at its normal level, yet it was hearable even across the table in such a loud environment, "what did you think of Dani's plot-twisters?"

"It was amazing!"

He rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, expressing his own sentiments on the subject with the proclamation of; "Right when there was hope for the human race, this happens."

"Shut your yap, Joe." Dani laughed. "Or we might just dis-invite you for dinner."

"What you gonna do, kick me out of the eating area? I'm so frightened."

"I can kick your ass any day of the week, boy."

"You wish!" His eyes stole a quick glance towards Lucy, who was looking down at her food, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Look at that, Dani. I do an amazing job of cheering her up, and then she gets around you, and she turns into a raincloud."

"Shut the fuck up, Joe." Dani retorted. "In your stormy presence, I think even the sun would stop shining." She inconspicuously nudged Lucy's side and, when the slightly younger girl turned to her, she gave Lucy a smile. "Cheer up, sunshine."

"Oh, I'm fine," Lucy replied, smiling in gratitude. "Just thinking about-"

"Don't think about it. Bitches get their rewards."

"Did I miss something?" Joe interrupted. "Because it doesn't sound like you're talking about mothers anymore."

Dani only looked at Lucy with the tiniest of smiles and gave her a one-armed hug before sipping out of her drink and not saying anything more on the subject.

He was seated on one side of the booth, the two girls opposite him. His legs were spread out in front of him and he was leaning back into the cushions comfortably. But still, he took another look at Lucy's face, and suddenly, he couldn't sit right. His stomach was no longer as hungry as it was before, and he hadn't even eaten a bite yet.

She didn't look as though there were a raincloud over her head or the sun had stopped shining because someone was present; she looked as though the sky had fallen around her shoulders, and the more she thought about whatever she was thinking about, the lower the sky was.

And that was when he realized he didn't like it when she had that look on her face.


	13. Replacing

**A/N;** A huge shout-out goes to; **XPoisonButterflyX, the everchanging, HeadbangGirl, FireIsLove, CP2girls, ber1719, ruthie-r89, nmstory,** and** dudeurfugly**.

Hearts to **ber1719** for filling my e-mail Inbox with around eight e-mails of epicness. (:

_Two announcements _very quickly; _Firstly,_ I can't do the replies to the Reviews at the top of the page anymore, because I felt like they were getting in the way of the story, and I'm kind of bummed about it. If you review and you have a question, I will, of course, reply but in a message. _Secondly,_ I am leaving Wednesday to go to Tennessee to visit my brother, who is in the 101st Airborne (I'M SO FRIGGING PROUD!) and I will be back on Friday, but I'm not sure when, so the update may or may not be late. Again, I'm not sure; just a warning.

By the way; I'm planning on going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter 7 Pt. 2 and I'm so excited! I'll let you guys know how it goes!

Make me the happiest girl in the world; Read & Review? :D

**Chapter 13**** - Replacing**

Her footsteps no longer marched with the confident saunter that she had been known for before; now the cadence was that of quiet assurance and hope, because for the first time in her life, Lucy Williams felt hope. That particular morning, the sky was a brilliant aquamarine, the sun was shining for everyone to see, and the world was absolutely radiant with the rainbows of life.

Until she saw that familiar figure standing in front of her secretary's desk, arguing with the poor girl under Lucy's employ. And suddenly, the sky wasn't quite so blue, the sun wasn't quite so bright, and the world didn't have quite so much color.

And as Lucy slunk out of sight of the woman standing and yelling at her clerk, she felt as though the hope had disappeared.

**...**

The door opened and closed; in walked Joe, fresh from work, wearing his cabbie clothes, jingling his keys in his hand, until he saw Lucy's face where she sat on the threadbare sofa.

"Lu?" He asked. "You didn't try to iron my clothes again, did you? You look sad. And burnt."

She threw him a glance that told him she found him _so_ amusing before answering; "You know perfectly well that there isn't a smoke smell in the air, Joseph Liebgott."

"Oh, the full name." He pretended to cringe, growing serious when he witnessed the lack of humor on her face. "What's wrong?"

"My mother came to my office again today."

"Again? You never told me she came in the first place." He set his keys down on the table, taking off his jacket and slinging it over the chair in the custom that she had come to recognize.

"Oh, right; yes, she's come about three times now."

He stopped on his way to the bedroom to examine her face for a moment, coming to the realization quickly; "You haven't talked to her even once, have you?" She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. "You know you're going to have to face her eventually, right?"

"Yeah," she said, practically shuddering at the thought. "But not yet." Not yet; she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Hasn't your mother ever heard of leaving someone alone?"

"Not really," she replied, smiling for the first time that afternoon. "It's not really a practiced custom for someone in my family to disappear and cut ties for a while."

"What, perfect track record or some shit like that?"

She suddenly found herself remembering the perfect wooden panels, the glasses of champagne at dinner, the suits and dresses worn every single day, the faces of her family wearing the expressions that society expected them to wear-

"Something like that."

He came back into the room, sitting down in an arm chair that was positioned across the room from the couch she was seated on, a book in her hands and the discarded newspaper of the day beside her.

"Can you throw me the paper?" He asked, realizing that it was all the way across the room and he was too lazy to get up from where he had just sat down. She obliged, rolling it up first so that it didn't fly everywhere as it traveled through the air and landed safely in his hands.

Not ten minutes had passed when the paper folded itself in half because his hands had gone slack where they held the material in front of his eyes; Lucy involuntarily glanced up from the pages of her book, only to see that familiar look in his eye as he stared blankly at the wall, not even minding the newspaper any longer.

There was an article about the war, she remembered. On the second page. Clark Gibson had done a piece on the development of weapons of warfare 'as we know it' and being 'on the brink of some new development.'

She wished she had cut it out of the paper when she saw that expression on Joe's face; it was one that told her that he was thinking of the war. It was an expression of watching things be destroyed; the ground on which he fought as the bullets sprayed into the soil, the bodies of his friends as the flak pierced them and they fell through the air with a cry-

"Joe."

The chair's rusty springs squeaked as he jumped, startled out of his thoughts of battle and loss.

"You were saying?"

She didn't bother telling him that she hadn't been talking; he would close off and say nothing more. He had to talk about it, to get it out of his system. It was an old psychiatric trick; let the patient vocalize what was on his mind and when he confides, he feels as though it's no longer his burden to bear alone. She remembered it from a story that had been in the paper once; a study of the human psyche.

"I was just thinking that you never did finish telling me about the war. Remember?"

He knew when he looked into her eyes that she knew what he had been thinking of; it was apparent the moment he saw the understanding in her emerald gaze.

"Yeah." His tongue ran swiftly over his lips before he opened his mouth and paused. "Fuck. I forgot where I was."

Somehow, this was mildly amusing to the both of them, although neither knew why, and neither stopped to think about it.

"After Carentan." She prodded gently. "About to head back to England." She didn't know how she remembered; all she knew was that she could recall every detail, every description, every word of every story that he had poured into her soul.

"Right." There was silence, but she didn't know if it was because he was gathering his thoughts or what. "They finally shipped us back to England and-"

Another pause, but this time his hand ran through his hair and he glanced at her for a moment before looking away again, trying to concentrate.

"There aren't any words, Lu." He finally said. "I don't - I don't think there are supposed to be words for the moment when you look around and realize half your friends didn't come back with you and it's all for one reason, and that one reason is they're fucking dead."

Silence struck him dumb once more, and he was quiet before he opened his mouth and let the words pour out of his mind; "They gave us passes to London, as if that was supposed to make everything fucking better."

As if it would bring their dead friends back, or make their death less biting.

The words started to come faster; faster, faster.

"So we tried to forget. We did our absolute fucking best; we partied and we partied hard. When we got back to Aldbourne, they began sending in these poor excuses for paratroopers, saying that these were fucking reinforcements, except we knew that they were replacements for the ones who had died. Replacements who were too inexperienced to do anything useful but be cannon fodder. So these young fuckers," up his hands rose and fell as he tried to make his point, as though he were directing a symphony, but these hands were hands that had held a gun, "these young fuckers came in and they tried to impress us with their toughness, because they were so _gahdamn_ tough. Trying to impress us because we were like fucking heroes to them."

A short and bitter laugh emerged from between his exotic lips, his voice rose and fell with the tide, and up and down his hands went, directing the dramatic choir and explaining the story as best they could.

"Because we'd killed fucking Nazis," his voice sunk to the neighbor of a whisper and his gaze was now planted firmly on the floor. "We were their heroes because we'd killed us some fucking Nazis." His tone that of a world-weary soul, he plodded on in defiance of the weariness that lay inside of him, inside of his very soul. "And as soon as we got out into Holland, boom, down they went and died. After promising us all-wise ones that they would kill them Nazis and get a Medal of Honor, and we would see... first rifleshot from a Kraut who couldn't hit the side of a barn if he was trying, and suddenly, they're in their fucking graves."

Buried in the ground, their mothers getting a yellow telegraph and assurances that their boy was a hero who had died in the midst of combat bravely-

"Joe," she whispered. "Joe."

It was enough to bring him back and continue his story; the same story that had very quickly - too quickly, it seemed - become a story of hardening, weariness, and bloodshed. Far too quickly.

"They sent us out to Holland. Safe jump, risky operation. You know the drill - get the tanks over the Rhine and be home for Christmas, right? That was bullshit."

He paused to rub at the temples of his forehead and Lucy, recognizing the symptoms, gestured for him to join her on the sofa instead of sitting in his lofty and isolated threadbare armchair. He found himself lying on the couch with his head on Lucy's lap and her hands gently massaging at the pounding hammer in his head more effectively than his impatient stabs of rubbing.

And still, he heard himself talking.

"The Dutch people fucking _loved_ us. When we liberated Eindhoven, they were all over the fucking place, waving orange flags and singing; their women rained kisses on our mouths and cheeks," there appeared a small twinge of stirring in Lucy's stomach, "and the kids ran around yelling their little heads off."

A small chuckle puffed itself out of his voicebox as the last attempt at having a sense of humor. It quickly died, shriveling in the air right above his lips as he remembered the images; a cobblestone street, orange armbands, the lilting song of freedom-

Kids.

Some of those kids had been valuable assets to the Dutch Resistance. Kids indeed.

"But in the end, the operation failed and it was all come to fucking nothing, and we set off to an island to keep the Krauts from taking it over." He lapsed off for a moment as her fingers circled magic works on his temples. He sighed once, then surprised them both by letting his voice come forth once more; "Sometimes it's like I've seen too much. You know?" He craned his neck to look up at her face, but her soothing fingers quickly stopped the movement and righted his position again. "I've seen too much." He repeated quitely.

Too fucking much.

**...**

The clock read 2:49 AM.

"Luc?" A quiet voice whispered from out of the darkness surrounding the bed as quiet feet padded over to stand over the figure lying there.

"Mm," replied her groggy voice. There was a stirring of her legs underneath the sheets and she raised her head to ask sleepily; "Joe?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, no, not at all... I was reading a book underneath the sheets with the lights off and my eyes closed, that's all. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I - sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep." He turned to leave, but her hand found his and his slim fingers caught on hers.

"Joe."

That was all she said, and that was all it took.

"I can't sleep."

She sat up, now awake, gazing up at him in confusion; her hair was mussed in the most becoming of all manners, her eyes had sleep embedded in them, and there was an imprint on her cheek from the pillow.

"Why not?"

"Just forget it, I-"

"Joe." Once again, her soft voice stopped him in his tracks.

"The war."

"Lie down," she said. He hesitated. "Do it," she urged gently, moving to the edge of the bed and patting the empty area next to her. He finally complied.

"Talk," she told him, rolling over onto her side and tucking her hand underneath the pillow to gaze at him, waiting for him to begin - well, talking. "It'll help you get your mind on other things."

"About?"

"Your childhood. Tell me about your childhood."

So Joe Liebgott told Lucy Williams about his childhood and, when the sun rose and flashed its' smile through the windows of the bedroom, it discovered Lucy Williams dozing in the arms of Joe Liebgott, who was peacefully asleep.


	14. Caging Innocence

**A/N; **I feel creative today, so I'm going to switch up the layout of the chapters. A/N;s go down at the bottom, honourable mentions and dedications stay up at the top, but I realized that there's a simple solution to the Review Replies thing; I'm putting them at the bottom.

But to the important stuff; this chapter is dedicated to the undescribable lot of you; **ber1719, XPoisonButterflyX, FireIsLove, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, the everchanging, dudeurfugly, cblols, ruthie-r89, HeadbangGirl, **and **CP2girls**. You are fantastic, each and every one of you. :)

**Chapter 14 ****- Caging Innocence**

She awoke to the dappled sunlight playing on the hoods of her eyelids, and she let out a contented breath through her nose, keeping her eyes shut just for the sake of pretending that she was still asleep. It was Saturday. She could afford a few moments of peace.

Even if she couldn't go back to sleep. It didn't matter, as long as she could simply lie there and bask in the sun that entered through the window of the bedroom.

That went to bother when she rolled over and found herself on the floor with a thump, bemoaning the thought of bruises for the weekend.

"Well," came a silky voice from the door, "if I ever wondered how the hell you can get out of bed in the morning, I guess I know how now."

She sent him a mock glare as she attempted to stand to her feet. Unfortunately, her foot caught in the hem of her nightgown as she was straightening up, and down she went again, bouncing to the bed and off the bed back down to the floor.

Much to Joe Liebgott's uproarous amusement.

If she had been able to see herself, perhaps she wouldn't have blamed him quite so much. Perhaps she would have started laughing as well, considering that her hair was everywhere, her nightgown was practically tangled up in her feet, and the look on her face was that of a pouting petulance. Perhaps. We'll never know, though, because she couldn't see herself, and therefore, she was able to blame him.

"You distracted me." She huffed as she pulled herself up onto the bed, giving up on actually standing on her own two feet for the moment.

"From what, your graceful gymnastics?" He chortled before raising his hands when her expression grew decidedly murderous. "I thought you might want breakfast."

It was as though her spine straightened instantly when she heard the word 'breakfast,' and she bounded up before remembering what had happened the last time she had stood up with Joseph D. Liebgott standing in the room; her foot was still tangled.

She went sprawling into his arms, colliding with him, knocking him backwards, and falling to the ground on top of him. He lay there, a breathless look on his face, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to get back the wind that she had knocked out of his lungs.

This time, it was her laughter that rang out.

**...**

Three days passed; nothing changed. Although both remembered perfectly well, they acted the same, as though nothing had happened. He dropped her off at work every weekday morning and then he went to drive around town, looking for people who needed rides. They would come home seperately, she bearing the day's newspaper and he carrying dinner, spend an evening either quietly or loudly, and they would each go to their seperate beds.

Everything had fallen into a perfect place.

Until Tuesday.

On Tuesday morning, they left at the usual time. They walked to the headquarters, got in the cab, and drove to her newspaper's office, where she got out of the front seat and, saying goodbye, they parted ways, the same as always.

Later, she didn't recall much of anything; all she knew was that she felt happy. And careless.

The next thing that she knew was that a voice was saying her name as she walked towards the door of her cubicle. It was a voice she could never have forgotten if she had wished to - and she had wished to, the past couple of weeks.

Nothing good would happen if she ignored her own mother, what with her hawk-eyed secretary watching. God knew that there would be rumors flying around within two minutes of her entering her office and closing her door.

"Yes, Mother?" She spun on her heel and faced down the woman standing behind her, wearing a perfectly faked smile that must have appeared genuine to everyone else surrounding her; it only made Lucy feel sick.

"Why, Lucille Darling, I was just wondering if you wanted to have luncheon at the house with me this afternoon, but you left the house too quickly for me to catch you. You got your errands done, I hope."

Lucy could feel the threats emanating from her maternal figure; but Joe had been right. It _was_ time for her to face the woman she had trusted her entire life. Why should she be the one cowering in the corner if she was the one who had been betrayed?

And still that smile was practically eating away at her skin with its' brightness, its' fake entity of delight. She wondered absently if this was how Joe had felt about her when they had first met. If he had, she certainly felt sorry for the poor bugger.

"Of course, Mother." Lucy smiled mildly - and her mother's own beam faltered, sensing that her daughter's smile was genuine and sincere, unlike her own. She found herself questioning if she really _did _have the upper hand or - no, no, she couldn't think like that. Of course Lucy's smile was a fake. How could it have possibly been real?

"How about you come around one o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

**...**

This was it. This was the moment that she was going to face her mother and listen to her side of the story.

Lucy expected her mother to have a side, of course. Why else would she want to meet with Lucy in private? To explain, of course. To explain why she had done the things she had done. It was as simple as all that.

So she walked to the door, let herself in, and slipped into the luncheon room to find her mother sitting at the table, sipping tea, and waiting for her.

The lunch room was built to have luncheon in, so it had been aptly - and unoriginally - named. It was located at the back of the house on the third level, with white trim, yellow wallpaper, and white curtains on three floor-length windows, which opened onto a decorational balcony that was there just for lookers; you were _not_ supposed to go onto it, as who knew what would happen if you did. In the middle of the room, there was a medium-length mahogany table, with eight chairs positioned three on each side, one on each end. Lucy's mother sat in one of the side chairs, facing away from the windows.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair across the table from her. Lucy wondered exactly why she felt like she was being ordered around as she sat down, feeling the old, familiar cushions underneath her. She suddenly remembered exactly why she had never liked those chairs; they were hard and unforgiving on one's derrier. "We need to talk."

"Of course, Mother." She said, folding her hands and gazing expectantly at her mother.

"I don't know where you have been for the past few days, Lucille," her mother began, "but I think that we need to make a few things absolutely clear. The wedding is still on."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this. Mrs. Williams didn't even allow her to speak, she just brushed on despite knowing quite well that her daughter had opened her mouth to share her own opinions. She did not care.

"Despite this little... overreaction on your part, Sydney has decided to overlook your miscellaneous disappearance and he is still accepting you as his bride."

Bride. Bride?

This couldn't be happening.

"Mother, he cheated on me."

"Every man must be allowed his daliances."

"Mother. Did you not hear me? He _cheated_ on me. This entire match was your idea and you conceal his so-called 'daliances,' his unfaithfulness - you _hide_ it from me without so much as a by-the-way! How am I supposed to _feel_, Mother? The wedding is off."

Mrs. Williams' chair scraped backwards as she stood to her feet slowly, towering over Lucy with all the power of a ramming bull.

"Do you know who you are without this family?" She said, her voice as steady and strong as it had been every time she had ever told Lucille Darling that she loved her daughter. "You are nothing." Nothing. "You are _nothing_. You are not dung beneath a horse's shoe without me, without your father, without your family. You would be on the streets, begging for coins if it weren't for us. So stop your complaining! If it weren't for _you_, Sydney wouldn't have had to go to someone else for something that you were _too good_ to give. You're _too good_ for nothing; you're good for _nothing_!" By now, she was yelling, her face cherry red as her words struck Lucy with all the pain of a sword stabbing in and out of her body. "And don't you forget it."

There was a pause as she stared down at Lucy and Lucy stared right back, too shocked to cry and a little too proud. No, she would not cry. Not here, not now. She would not.

"You think that you are _worthy_ to have a choice; you think that you are _worthy_ to live your own life. But you owe your life to _me_, you understand? To _ME_. The wedding will go on."

With that, she swept out of the room, the door rattling to a shut behind her, and a click resonated from the lock. But still she would not cry. Not in this house, not where her mother could hear. She would not.

She was locked in. Trapped. Caged.

She didn't know how long she remained there, staring in shock at the space where her mother's face had been as her words echoed in her mind and in her head and in her heart and in her soul.

When she came back to herself with a start, the sky was growing darker and darker and she realized that she needed to get out of there, just as she would have needed to get out of a kidnapper's captivity or a cage built for a bird.

But how? The door was locked. The windows were-

The windows.

She rose quickly and hurried over to the windows, unbolting one and opening it. The fresh breeze hit her face, but that wasn't what she was concerned with at the moment; she couldn't jump. If she did, she could die, break both her legs or, at the very least, one. Not to mention her arms and neck as well.

Bugger.

How did the sleuths in those ridiculous newspaper-published stories always do it? Third-level story jumps, miraculous rolls, they stay alive, no broken bones? They tied the curtains together and climbed down? They just stayed up there and tried to find out the bad guy's plans and then they were saved by the cops just in time?

Fifteen minutes later of difficult ripping and knotting, Lucy found herself clinging to a rope fashioned of white curtains, praying to whoever was commandeering from above that nothing was going to come loose and she wasn't going to fall. She had kicked off her shoes and peeled off her stockings for a better grip, then tied the end of the curtain-rope to the banisters of the balcony that she wasn't supposed to go out on in the first place.

She didn't know how she made it; hand under hand, eyes squeezed shut, feeling her way along, her arms growing too tired to continue, and yet on she went, climbing down and down and down and down until - her bare feet found the ground.

She allowed herself no time for celebration, however, knowing that she had to disappear, and quickly. She reached for her purse to count how much money she had - but then she realized that she didn't _have_ her purse; she had left it in the luncheon room. She would have to walk, then; if she hurried, she could make it to the theater, and she knew her way home from the theater, even in the dark.

Home. She suddenly realized, as down the sidewalk she trekked, that home was no longer the imperious building she was walking from. It was the small, bare, lonely apartment inhabited by a sarcastic and half-broken man.

All she wanted was to get home.

**...**

He didn't know where the hell she was. If she ever had to go out for groceries, she would leave the most recent newspaper on the couch for him, signifying that she would be back. But yesterday's newspaper hadn't even been thrown away, which meant that she hadn't been to the apartment since they had left together that morning.

She had probably stayed late at work or something. She would be fine, he finally decided, sitting on the couch and picking up the newspaper from the day before to study once again.

**...**

She could barely believe it when she finally found herself in front of the door, with her hand on the knob, turning it, and pushing the door open to find Joe sitting on the couch, reading the old newspaper.

His eyes glanced up at her as she walked quietly in, closing the door behind her gently before continuing on to the bedroom to change; she knew that he had noticed the lack of shoes and stockings, the absence of a purse, and the lack of an updated paper.

She was nearly to the doorway of the bedroom when-

"Hey." Just that; a simple greeting. No questions asked. No explanations needed. Appearance accepted. He wasn't going to interrogate her unless she felt like talking about it and she honestly couldn't.

Not now.

Not when the lights were on and he was watching her.

"Hey," she replied, shocked by how weary she sounded. Not tired, but _weary_; worn out, drug down, in the dumps, any way you want to put it.

She didn't look backwards as she continued on to the bedroom; they didn't speak again as they both prepared for sleep, he in the couch and she in the bed.

**...**

As he lay in the darkness, his hands behind his head, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling through the blind night, he wondered about what had happened.

Like he had initially thought, she had probably stayed late at work because she had been so busy, taken off her shoes and stockings in the car because her feet were sore from bustling around the office all day long, forgotten her purse in the car because she had just yawned and just plumb forgot, and - well, the paper was simply overlooked when she had left work.

He knew it was all bullshit, though. He _knew_ it, as well as he knew that his name was Joseph D. Liebgott, sir.

His body stiffened when he heard it though; it wasn't much, just a muffled sound coming from the next room over.

But it shouldn't have been there in the first place.

**...**

She never heard the door open, but she felt his warmth next to her as he slid onto the bed, gathering her into his arms. His body was solid against her shaking one as she leaned against him, the tears running down her face, agonizingly freezing cold and yet burning hot at the same time.

"Don't cry, love. Don't cry. I'm here. What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong." He whispered against her hair, rocking back and forth unconsciously, enveloping her in his embrace.

But only two words escaped her trembling lips; only two, but they were enough to fill him with molten lava that burned on the inside, only two words before her body was wracked once more with sobs that consumed her entire frame.

"I'm worthless."

**...**

**Replies & A/N;**

**ber1719;** I absolutely love your reviews :D and I have to say, your Memoirs reviews made my day(s) as well. I would try and express how much I appreciate your amazing-review-ness, but I fall short of words, and I must bow down and worship the almighty reviewer. Like the Ewoks in Star Wars. Or something. Anyways. By the way, I never get tired of your opinions. :D

**XPoisonButterflyX;** I think that it is a comfort, but it's more that they simply _need_ each other now; it's a bit complex, I guess.

**FireIsLove;** Are they still getting effing cute? ;) haha. I'm saving the waking-up reaction description for a later time. I'm thinking it's going to be more of a flashback, so that we can get his view on things, you know?

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM;** Well, you know Joe, he's just plain old _cute_. And cuddly. Like a teddy bear. ;) You know you want to admit it! Haha.

**the everchanging;** Will Lucy ever learn to iron clothes? ...Probably not :D it's just too amusing. And thank you :) so, so much!

**dudeurfugly;** Have I ever told you that I love hearing your thoughts? Because I honestly do. It's like you always get what they're both thinking and feeling! :) It makes me haaappy!

**ruthie-r89;** I didn't even know how to respond to your review, it was so wonderful :) Joe is amazing to write, and that's all I can say; he's got such a realm of emotion, you know? And he keeps it all inside. Until I mess with him. :) Haha.

**HeadbangGirl; **I confess; I brought back the review replies just for you. Everyone else can just be annoyed :D I love Adele. Just saying. I haven't heard Turning Tables, though.

**CP2girls;** It's been three years since the war, yes. Dani was overseas for a year, and then she spent two years at home. And you know Joe; he does tend to keep stuff internal.

_**EVERRRRRYONEEEEE ALIVEEEEEEEEEEE;**_ Yeah, you. Haha. Thank you guys _so_ much for keeping me sane this week. I have to confess, I had a bit of writer's block on this chapter. Tennessee was fantastic, except for the constant pestering of my non-Army-brother-who-came-along. I almost died; no, correction. He almost died. I will say this, though; Fort Campbell, Kentucky/Tennessee (it's on the border) is the home of the 101st Airborne. There were Screaming Eagle patches everywhere. I kept hoping Bill Guarnere would show up, but no such luck, sadly. Sniffle.

I _did_ get to see Harry Potter 7 Pt. 2 :D it was fantastic. You should go see it. Like, right now, after you're done reading this. Just go pop into the movie theater and see it. It's bloody great.

So, Review, tell me if I conquered the block or not? :)


	15. Thoughts in the City

**A/N;** A fantastic shout-out to all of you wonderful creatures, you; **orchid121, Auluna, CP2girls, FireIsLove, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, dudeurfugly, HappysOldLady, ber1719, sweet19gurl, HeadbangGirl, ruthie-r89, xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx.**

**Chapter 15**** - Thoughts in the City**

The sun was warm but she was not.

Her body lay atop the sheets and they were influenced by the sun's rays but she was not.

The world around her was whole.

She was not.

She might as well have been scattered into pieces, bleeding from a hole in her chest, or not there at all. The only thing anchoring her to this world was the arm slung over her waist and the comforting presence of the warm body lying behind her.

She could feel his soothing breath whispering over the back of her neck softly, telling her that he was there, no matter what. He was there.

She turned in the bed to face him, her bloodshot eyes meeting his clear ones. He smiled, the corners of his lips turning up; not from amusement, but from a question. _Are you okay?_

She didn't answer. She couldn't. She averted her eyes and pulled herself deeper into him, hiding her head in his chest and letting the smell of him wash over her. He smelled of leather seats and cigarette smoke, of deep and dark thoughts, of promises that he had never been able to keep until now.

They lay there; his arms surrounding her and her trying to escape the world inside of his embrace.

It was Wednesday, she remembered. There was work to be done. If she didn't leave his arms now, she would never want to leave them again.

"I have to-"

"Sh," he whispered. "It can wait."

It was the single most caring thing that she could remember ever being said to her in her entire life.

There weren't any clear thoughts in her mind; what vapid whispers of solid thinking there could have been were washed away by the numbness of her mind. She was tired; shell-shocked, exhausted, weary, drug down; she was simply tired. Too tired to move, it seemed, and too tired to think.

The only thing she noticed was his arms around her and the feeling of home. This was what she had been fleeing to. This was what she had escaped for. This.

**...**

"You want some breakfast?"

"Yeah," her soft reply came, but her arms tightened instinctively, begging him; _Don't go. Please don't go._

He slid out from underneath her, padding to the kitchen, and unhooking the skillet from the single hook. He hadn't brought it down since she had come to his apartment; it hadn't been needed. With her there, it was different; it was lighter. Warmer. Brighter.

He heard her footsteps behind him as she sat down at the table, watching him fry the eggs in the now-employed skillet.

"Remember when you got in the cab?"

Yeah, she could remember all those fateful weeks ago. She could remember her naivete, her innocence, and her stupidity; she could also remember a really cranky cabbie who jerked the steering wheel a lot, all while he managed to come up with smart retorts to her standard questions.

She nodded. It was safe to say she remembered.

"I was so upset because I wanted an egg omelette."

Without thinking, she smiled, imagining his frustration at not being able to get back to his egg omelette, which he had just proved he could fry very well indeed.

"I'm sorry."

He had caught the smile, though. Seeing her smile again was a feeling akin to going to the beach on a cloudy day when suddenly, the sun bursts forth and you are illuminated with brilliance.

Then the smile faded and the clouds drew back around the sun; all was dim once again.

"You need to talk about it?"

He didn't mean about that first taxi ride, that reunion of sorts. And he couldn't see her eyes, damn it; she had her head bowed again so he couldn't see her face, her blonde curls cascading over her forehead and everything that lay beneath that was hidden from view.

But then her voice was speaking and she was telling him what had happened; everything. Her mother showing up, her trip to the house, the words her mother had shouted at her, and the escape that she had finally pulled off; the long walk home and - she was about to tell him of what he already knew, of him coming to her side and comforting her when no one else could, but she stopped short, and he was left thinking that he was one of few, not the only one.

He almost felt proud, though; the Lucille Williams that he had first met would never have done such a thing. She would never have been in this position in the first place. But his Lucy; his Lucy didn't have a last name because she was worthy of a better name than the one that was associated with her family.

"Thanks, Joe." She said quietly, reaching across the tiny table and slipping her hand around his, squeezing subconciously to echo her words. He didn't ask what for. He didn't need to.

"Let's go out," he said, getting up and circling around the table to stand beside her, waiting for her to look up at him. Waiting for the clouds to part again. "Out into the city."

His wish was granted; she looked up at him. The smile was still absent; he was struck by her eyes and, although it wasn't the first time her eyes had captured his attention, this time was for a completely different reason.

She was battle-weary. You could see it in her eyes, in her forlorn expression.

"To see Dani?"

It wasn't his thought echoing through his mind; it was a stranger's, telling him that he shouldn't have to share her today and she shouldn't have to share him.

"No," he said, kneeling down beside his Lucy and finally understanding her much better than he ever had before. "Today, you're all mine."

Her lips curled up.

**...**

His father had always told him that if you didn't know how else to cheer a girl up, buy her ice cream. Of course, this valuable advice was given when he was about six or seven years old and everything back then had been simple. Somehow, though, he knew that it was the right piece of advice to take at that particular time, with Lucy at his side in the middle of a city.

Lucy certainly looked happy enough with an ice cream cone. He found he was staring when she looked over at him and laughed.

"You have ice cream on your nose," she giggled before turning serious. "My parents never bought me ice cream when I was a kid. They said I was above that."

_If I used to be above it and now I'm not, that means he's dragged me down a few levels; but if he's dragged me down, then why does it feel so damn right?_ She wondered to herself as he wiped the ice cream off with an uncontainable - and contagious - smile.

She was laughing, he realized. She was laughing and the sun was back out; the clouds had vanished and he hoped to God that they wouldn't come back anytime soon, because if he had gone crazy, then he had gone crazy, but her smiling simply felt natural and the world was dark when her smile had gone.

The day was gone too quickly. They were silent as their wandering footsteps carried them back to the apartment.

He went in to say goodnight to her and make sure she was all right, but her hand caught in his and her already sleepy voice whispered to him; "Stay with me, Joe. Please?"

He stayed.

**Review Replies & A/N;s**

**orchid121; **Thanks! Me too :) Joe's not that bad, right? haha. I hope you're enjoying the story so far! :)

**Auluna;** Who doesn't love Winters? He's absolutely amazing! And I personally love Perco. He's hilarious, what with his Italian accent and his seeming love of brushing his teeth... haha. I can't choose favorites though! Every single time I go back and watch the series over, I decide "this one's my favorite! Noooo, this one! Noooo, this one!" Right now, it's currently between George Luz, Joe, and Eugene. Either way, right? Haha. I hope you're enjoying the story so far! :)

**CP2girls; **Yes, Lucy's mother is indeed very dislikeable. :p and I have to agree; Joe is pretty fabulous. Haha. And how was Harry Potter? :) I personally found a new love for Mrs. Weasley because of her certain line before hexing Bellatrix, but my favorites are and always will be... the Weasley twins. Sob. Fred. D: It broke my heart!

**FireIsLove;** Hahahaha! I have to admit, what you said about Sydney going and doing himself made me laugh. It was hilarious. And I don't think it's any secret that I dislike Lucy's mother as much as anyone possibly can. Lucy's dad hasn't really been mentioned yet because he's coming up later in the story; there's a reason he hasn't been mentioned yet, though. :) Trust me! :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM;** It's never easy hearing anything like that from your mother. Sadly enough, Lucy did. I wish I could explain why I always seem to throw wenches in the mix and why I can't just let two people fall in love in one of my stories, but in my life it's always been more complicated than that, you know? I wish I could explain without it coming off as whining, really, really, I do. I don't know, I guess I kind of consider us friends. Weird feeling, right? Anyways. I'm half-asleep and that's my excuse for everything weird I say and do. Haha.

**dudeurfugly;** I definitely think that Lucy escaping from the house was because of Joe's influence! You were the inspiration for part of this chapter. :) And Joe will DEFINITELY have something to say about the plans for the wedding ;D but only when he realizes exactly how serious her mother is about all of it. You know how Joe is.

**HappysOldLady;** Ohmygoodnessgracious, seriously? Favorite? EVER? :D That is a compliment that will be treasured inside my chest of happiness for eternity! Your review made me very, very happy :) and I love your name, by the way! Haha. I just had to throw that out there. It reminds me of sunshine. I don't know why. Anyways. Ahem. Haha.

**ber1719; **Wait. Favorite couple. EVER? o_o I think you're exaggerating. Either that, or I'm in frigging heaven. I hope he's not a whole 'nother person in a bad way; I hate it when someone writes a fanfiction about a character and puts him so out of proportions and then they turn around and say; but he's in love, he's acting like he would with the girl he's in love with, etc. etc. Cough cough, you never sent me those reviews, cough cough, and I was checking my e-mail going :( but she said... cough cough. Just thought I'd throw that out there ;) I understand, though. And I have to say; Harry Potter was uhmazing. Favorite characters? Weasley Twins. Poor Gred :( yours?

**HeadbangGirl;** I wish Joe could ride in and save the day, too! Only when I say that, he starts wearing a cape and swinging on ropes... anyways! Haha. But no, unfortunately, he's not a psychic and he can't read minds. He had to suffice for being really worried. Poor Joe. But I will DEFINITELY have to check out Turning Tables :)

**ruthie-r89;** Poor Lucy just doesn't know where to go right now :( In answer to your question, I don't know if the other men are going to make appearances or not. I'd like them to, but Joe didn't go to the Easy Company reunions, so I don't know how I would fit them in. I'll see what I can do, though :)

**ANYONE WHO'S OUT THERE; YEAH, YOU. YEAH, YOU WITH THE FACE; YEAH, YOU.**I'm sorry that this update is a few hours late! Unfortunately, my brother let me get my hands on his (vast collection of) LEGOS and my Lord above, you should be able to guess how I am when I get my hands on Legos. Yeeee dawgies! Haha. But. I have updated regardless of my fascination with Legos and my watching Sherlock Holmes until midnight... you get the picture. :)

OH. And because **HeadbangGirl** got after me for not telling you that I have other fics up and running; yes, I'm writing two other fics as we - well, I was going to say 'as we speak', but that's not exactly literal. But yes. One is a Bill/OC and it's called _Dreaming Wide Awake_, the other is in a completely different category and it's a _Jumper_ fic, it's called _Jumping Currents_. It's about Grrrriffin :D because I have such a weak spot for Jamie Bell and his eatable face + voice. Cough. Let me get myself composed... anyways! I just wanted to let you guys know that because she got after me for it and I wanted to make sure that everyone knew so she could be happy. :p

This chapter's more of a filler than anything else and I'm sorry that it's so short, but I promise that next week's will be longer! :) And while I'm talking about the chapters, last week's response was thrilling and heart-warming and fantastic and I appreciate every single review and comment that you guys send my way! It's just mind-boggling to me that anyone's reading this, let alone enjoying it.

Let me know what you thought of the filler, Read & Review? :)


	16. Deceived

**A/N;** Shout-out to **PhilipMarlowe, HappysOldLady, Whitetiger77, ber1719, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, Lilmonkey1507, dudeurfugly, **and **ruthie-r89.**

I would like to very quickly address a review that I received this past week. I don't want to seem like I'm biting anyone's head off and I won't say any names, but I feel that this issue has to be dealt with and explained so that _everyone_ can understand where I'm coming from.

This review said, in paraphrase, that Lucy was being whiney and Joe, although being a sweetheart, was out of character. I would like to address this right now.

Firstly, it's been a long time since the war for most people. It's been three years since we saw him in Band of Brothers' closing scene. Of course he has changed. Everyone changes after going through something as traumatizing as a war. He's pent up all of this frustration and anger and pain, and then Lucy comes along. He's a hardass, of course, since that's his defense, but then he starts talking involuntarily and, through this, he starts to trust Lucy more and more, and he begins to care about her. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but Joe is a very fiery bloke, and the way I see him, he will go to great lengths to protect something that he cares about, even if it means comforting them. And hell, he's been in the company of a woman for about the last year, of course he's more sensitive. I blame it all on Dani.

To the other issue; Lucy. You have to understand, Lucy based her entire life on her mother. She made her career decision because of her mother, she made the friends she did because her mother encouraged her to, she was who she was because of her mother. To turn around and find out that the woman that you thought loved you completely and whole-heartedly as a daughter - doesn't even care about you? Lucy's heart was broken! I don't feel that she's being whiney at all - then again, I know what it's like to have your parents betray you and make you feel like they don't care about you. I guess it's something that you understand only if you go through it.

This week completely shook me. Until now, I have always believed that my sole talent in writing was the ability to portray emotions in a light that was understandable to the readers. I've started wondering to myself that if I don't have that, what do I have?

Cheers, guys. We're almost to the end. Only a few more chapters to go.

**Chapter 16**** - Deceived**

One day. One day with a happy Joe Liebgott quieted the echoes of her mother's shouts in her ears and her mind. Quieted. Not silenced.

Despite it all, his presence was soothing; yes, even if he was mostly silent and he had days that honestly didn't showcase the best in his nature - swearing every other word, nearly breaking one of the few uncracked mugs in the cupboard multiple times, and being in such a general bad mood that if you had seen him, you would have thought he was a teenaged girl on her monthly.

All the same, when she looked at him, Lucy felt something. And she wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was everywhere; her stomach, her head, her thoughts, her knees, her fingers, her skin- she couldn't escape him. Even if she had been able to, she wouldn't want to. She didn't want to.

He was different now. His voice didn't reply to everything she said, but his face did. Sometimes his eyes would be watching her and she would catch a look that she couldn't describe in words or explain to herself.

If either one had stopped to think more carefully about the company, perhaps they might have noticed the expression in Dani's eyes, the bloodshot veins from lack of sleep, the tenseness in her steps as she walked, and the silence that stretched between her mind and her mouth. She was on autopilot.

Of course, even if Lucy had been more aware of what was going on, it's doubtful that she would have noticed in the first place, since Dani was a good actress when she needed to be and this was one thing that she had determined to deal with on her own. Joe, poor Joe, thought it was from recurring memories and staying up too late, writing away into the morning hours.

**...**

"Stacey, what is that?"

"It came for you after you left yesterday."

The object in question lay almost innocuously on the top of Stacey's secretarian desk; perhaps it didn't mean to be harmful. Perhaps, if it had a personality, the rich, creamy vanilla envelope would have been hoping to carry good news instead of bad tidings.

All the same, when Lucy picked it up, it was the grip of a mouse clutching an unconscious viper. It found its way into her purse and then stayed there, nestling among the fold. Harmless. Innocent.

Deceiving.

**...**

By the time Lucy had made her way to the apartment she now called home, she had completely forgotten about the mysterious envelope and its' unknown contents. It was only when she reached into the depths of her purse to find the folded newspaper and her fingers fell on expensive parchment that she remembered. She pulled it out, turned it over, and numbly stared at it.

"What's that?"

"I don't know," she replied, her finger hesitating before ripping open the seal and reading the contents. "Invited to the Engagement-" Her arms fell to her sides in exasperation. "Oh, for crying out loud!" 

Joe sat on his couch, either waiting for the newspaper or waiting for her to tell him what was going on. Either way, he was waiting as patiently as he could. She examined the typing once more and then sighed in frustration before tossing it to Joe's waiting lap.

"What the fuck?"

"It's an invitation to my own engagement ball." She explained with steely eyes. "My mother is going ahead with the wedding and I get an _invitation_ to _my own_ engagement ball." Her feet started pacing across the dirty carpet and she absently started fidgeting. "If there is an engagement ball to be had, I should be the one sending out the fucking invitations!" 

She was distracted by the long, slow, and rather high-pitched whistle that floated from a mildly pleased man, who was watching the spectacle of her anger with something akin to amusement.

"Holy fuck," he drawled, stretching out his limbs luxuriously and smirking, "I do believe that's the first time that word has ever come out of your mouth. How does it feel to be a vulgar woman?"

"Shut your mouth, Joe." She snapped impatiently; all the same, a smile curled around the edges of her lips. "You're the one who's a bad influence on me." The pacing and fidgeting resumed. Even if she was a train and the tracks had been derailed, she would have kept steaming along. "She wants me to be there."

"So? Fuck her, what do you care?"

"I care because if there is the engagement party and I am not there, she will be able to excuse it with something akin to 'she's not feeling well and she sends her apologies.' If I am there, I might be able to talk to her. You know, confront her." She stopped, looking at him with the gaze he knew rather well by now. "It has to be done."

"You're not going on your own. Remember the last time you entered a fucking house that had your mother in it?"

"Perfectly well, thank you. I _am_ the one who climbed down a rope made out of curtains. _And_, if you hadn't noticed, it's not at my house, it's at the Calliote's."

"Well, aren't _you_ a big girl now," he retorted sarcastically. "You're not-"

"Joe, if I'm not going to go alone, who is going to come with-" The light dawned in her head and she stared at him in incredulity. "Joe, no! Not happening!"

She soon found out that you can't argue very long with Joseph Liebgott. He was going, whether she liked it or not. Not that she was upset about it, not at all; she felt better with Joe by her side. But she didn't like the idea that she had to lean on someone to take care of her.

The plan was eventually set; Joe would look like a gentleman, minus the slicked-back hair, and Lucy would go to her parents' house and get a dress worthy of an engagement ball out of her old closet when she knew that her mother would be over at the Calliote Mansion, getting prepared and buttering up Sydney's 'dahhhhhling' mother.

Exactly two weeks until the fateful day of the ball, and it just so happened that it was the traditional day to visit Dani, who was planning for another play's backdrops and looking decidedly disheveled when they arrived. When they insisted that she take a break - God knew that she looked like she needed one - she sat down at one of the group tables in the lounge and lit up a cigarette, her fingers shaking.

"Lucy," she said after taking a few puffs, "have you ever seen someone's eyes shining with a holy light just because their lover called them 'Darling?'"

"Can't say I have."

"I know right? It's bullshit. Inspirational romance fiction, my ass." When Joe cocked an eyebrow at Dani, she shrugged. "Teddy told me to read them and tell him what I thought."

"Give us a test-run of what you're going to tell him," Lucy encouraged, leaning back into her chair. Dani stood and began to pace back and forth in short, decisive strides.

"I'm going to tell him that I think it's a load of words that, although arranged comprehensibly, and although the spelling isn't great, turns into a completely glorious splendor. That is, if I shit glorious splendors when I rise and shine in the fucking morning. In the end, it's a load of extravagant shit arranged into shining words to make it seem like less of a hogwash."

"Geezus, Dani. What's gotten you so riled up?"

She took another draw from her cigarette, her hands shaking intermediately.

"What? Oh, nothing, nothing. Just the style of writing is shit and to make it all fucking worse, it gives people false hopes about how things are going to turn out. So the girl, the heroine, she screwed up, right? Does he leave? _No_, he stays and looks at her with a holy light shining in his eyes. My dear God above, whoever wrote this piece of laughingstock must have been taking some hallucinating pills." She collapsed back into her seat, sinking into the back of the chair and closing her eyes, muttering; "Damn Teddy."

Lucy glanced over at Joe, who shook his head slightly. Whatever it was that was on Dani's mind, she didn't want to talk about it plainly, or she would have already. To ask her would be almost like forcing her shields to go back up.

Dani's newest play was coming out exactly a week before the day of the ball and after that, she would be slam-packed busy for a few weeks at least, so there was no fear of hurting her feelings - as if something so insignificant would hurt Dani's hardass feelings - but she did say to call her up if anyone felt like hot cocoa after the ball.

And damn it all, Lucy just wanted to get it over with.

Finally, the day arrived.


	17. Dancing

**A/N;** A _huge_ shout-out to the fabulous **Auluna, dudeurfugly, HappysOldLady, XPoisonButterflyX, FireIsLove, Audrey Jenkins, mysterious victoria, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, ber1719, ruthie-r89, HeadbangGirl, Heartbeats77, Jesse Lacey, the everchanging, caught-offsides, **and **e**.

I felt so incredibly - aaah! You guys made me speechless. I was almost crying when I read your reviews and it was the most amazing feeling I have ever had in my whole entire life. So - I don't know what to say! You have taken away my words and left me the happiest person in the whole wide world.

I hope you all enjoy. :)

**Chapter 17**** - Dancing**

But, oh, then she said

You spent too much time in your head.

What could I ever do? What could I say

To cover up my concerns and keep them at bay?

**(Coppertone - Hellogoodbye)**

**...**

There was silence; perhaps because they had talked before and run out of words or perhaps because they could think of nothing to say in the first place. But perhaps the most truthful explanation was that they didn't need to speak and they were both deep in thought, too deep in thought to disturb the peaceful air in the cab.

They stayed quiet in this fashion until the automotive finally pulled to a stop in front of a towering structure and Joe, looking to the woman seated on the other side of the seat and realizing that she was lost in her own mind, reached over and tapped Lucy's arm with a single finger.

"Lu," he said, "we've arrived at the museum."

She blinked at him, startled out of her thoughts of how well he cleaned up and how _damn good_ he looked in a tux. "Joe, we were supposed to go to my house-" she began to protest before looking at the building they were parked in front of. "You're _so_ hilarious," she snarked as she climbed out of the cab and headed to the front door of the imposing excuse for a house, hoping that he hadn't suddenly become psychic and he didn't know exactly _what_ she thought of him in his current attire - it had to do with _hot damn._

"Oh, I know," he smirked as he followed her, "took you fucking long enough to realize."

She didn't reply, being a bit too busy in her attempts to stealthily open a heavy wooden door. It was unlocked. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the heavens above that the front door apparently still remained unlocked until ten o'clock. Her mother had always told her to constantly be ready for guests, no matter the hour.

Lucy was beginning to think that it might have been more appropriate to swap out the word guests for the more proper term burglars.

Or, at least, she felt like a thief as she headed up the winding staircase to her former room as quietly as she possibly could, leaving Joe to his unfortunate demise of amusing himself while waiting for her to descend once again.

Joe, spying a rigid-backed chair across the grand entrance room from the climbing staircase, shambled over to it and flopped his lanky limbs onto it gracefully. It is safe to say that the chair was there merely for decoration and not for visitors to actually sit on, therefore comfort was not an issue. Except Joe _did_ sit on it and therefore comfort _was_ an issue, especially what with the stiffness of the tuxedo that he wasn't exactly happy about wearing in the first place, and then it had to go and make the uncomfortable chair even _worse_! He spent the next couple of minutes switching positions, trying to find one he was acclimated to, all the while grumbling belligerently underneath his breath at the fucking stubborn chair.

It could go burn in hell, he decided unamusedly as he gave up and went to wait - standing, mind you - by the door.

He didn't have to wait much longer.

**...**

Lucy, meanwhile, had been struggling into the first dress she could lay her hands on. The only impression she got was that it was dark, sparkly, high in the front and low in the back with as much leg showing as was decent. Of course, she noticed this as she was slipping her feet into the first dainty high-heels they could find, so whether or not her impression was correct, she wasn't exactly sure. Either way, she didn't have time to worry about it as she dashed back to the stairs and practically ran down them, sliding her hand cautiously along the banister in case she fell in her haste.

Her head was down, concentrating on the steps she was making down the perilous way, and so she missed the expression on his face as he watched her descent.

All she knew was that when she finally reached the bottom and was able to meet his gaze with her own, she found his eyes to be nothing short of staring.

"What do you think?" She asked, but only because she had to know what he was thinking behind that shell-shocked and unblinking gaze.

"Adequate," he said after a long pause, a laugh coming to his dark eyes. She stepped closer without thinking, and his stare didn't break; she found that she was holding it and returning it to him with something akin to a smirk on her face. She could see that there was something more than 'Adequate' in his eyes.

"You know the problem with you, Joe?" Her voice drew down to a low whisper, as though she were imparting some great and miraculous secret that he was blessed to receieve from her lips.

"Do tell."

"You spend too much time in your head."

He wasn't given a chance to respond; footsteps echoed from an adjoining hallway and then a black-suited man that Joe vaguely recognized as the arrogant butler walked in, bursting in on the scene and bursting any sheltered bubble of privacy that might have existed previously.

The old geezer stopped and stared.

"Mistress Lucille?"

It was immediately as though someone had substituted an iron pole for Lucy's spine; she became as stiff and rigid as the chair Joe had been wrestling with only minutes before and if Joe had to throw out a guess of why exactly she now resembled the most uncomfortable chair in the world, he would say that she probably didn't want to see the prick of a butler who was walking up to her.

But she turned around anyway. And she smiled.

"Hello, Thomas."

Thomas' eyes went to behind her, where Joe stood casually, hands in his pockets and mouth quiet. Thomas' finger pointed directly at the very innocent Joe and his voice said in a growl; "You."

Joe's eyebrows raised.

"Yes, me."

"You don't belong here. Get ou-"

"Thomas, Joseph is my chauffer." She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, burning an incredulous hole in her skull at the sound of his Christian name, the same one that his mother had used when he was in trouble as a child. She continued regardless; "We were actually just about to leave for the ball."

Thomas gave 'Joseph' a very hostile glare but he stiffly nodded his white head all the same. Lucy turned to the door and nodded to 'Joseph,' who opened the grand door with wide gestures of admiration, shooting a look at the butler, who was watching them go with disapprovement raining from his eyes; Joe winked at him before the door cut off their line of sight of each other.

"I thought he was going to hit you," Lucy laughed as the car grumbled to a start, breathless from a half-run down the sidewalk to the automobile.

"What, him? Nah. He fucking loved me, couldn't you tell?"

**...**

A single sigh escaped Lucy's lips at the sight of the dreaded Calliote Mansion. Sydney had brought her over many times for parties and meetings with his mother, who had acted as though she worshipped the ground 'Lucille' walked on. Then again, looking back on it, Lucy wasn't sure if that was also a show or not.

It probably had been.

"Well. This is it," she said, more to herself than to Joe, trying to remind herself of the job that she was supposed to do here and what it meant for her and her well-being and her future and her dignity - and just her over-all sense of justice. If Mother wanted her to be there, she would do more than just _be_ there. Screw it all, she had gotten an invitation to her own _engagement_ announcement.

Geezus.

It was only a small hiccup in the procedures that her mind was still caught on the look in Joe's eyes that had promised he meant more than 'Adequate,' back at her abode. More. And she kept wondering if she was wrong.

The car parked and was silent; after a few moments, she felt an unexpected squeeze on her hand. The eyes that she hadn't realized she had closed fluttered open and she looked over in surprise to find Joe watching her patiently.

Right then, right there, in that moment she realized that he was all she had. He was it, he was all, he was everything. If she didn't have him, she didn't have anything.

She had to do this.

She found her feet stepping out of the cab and heading towards the baronial pigsty, hearing Joe following not too far behind in her footsteps. Somehow, the sounds of his accompaniment gave her more courage than she possibly could have mustered on her own, and she walked with a new determination - which was perhaps a bit jaunty, just for Joe's amusement.

She barely even recognized herself anymore.

Either way, her smile was already beaming when she stepped through the front entrance, only to have her wrap taken and to be bombarded with eager socialites who had wished to be in her longed-for metaphorical shoes. She had worn this mask too many times for it to be flawed; it was the most perfect thing her mother had ever created and impounded into her, and yet it was one of the things she most despised.

Her glowing mask, her gorgeous smile - all for what? To be engaged, to be cheated on, to be lied to, to be invited to your own engagement ball because your mother was trying to force you to marry a bastard who didn't even love you?

Her eyes scanned the crowd absently as she greeted all the debutantes who had pretended to be her friends for so long just to say they were in an upper ring of Californian society; Lucy decided to ignore all the curious looks they handed to Joe as he trailed closely - and silently - behind her. She also ignored the fact that there were a few eyelashes batted.

She suddenly felt like slapping some mask-wearing beauty queens with fake smiles and high-pitched voices. Dear God, had she _really_ been a part of this group?

This was more a cult than a group of high-end people with too much time and too much money.

Finally, she spotted her mother flirting with a distinguished gentleman and she made a resolved beeline for her, keeping her gaze fixed on the green dress that her mother had probably picked out just for the purpose of it going so brilliantly with the golden hair that Lucy herself had inherited - although Mrs. Williams' hair was now more out of a bottle than natural, as time had taken its effect and she still wished to deny the clock its supreme authority over her aging appearance.

Then Lucy had reached her goal and she laid a hand on her mother's arm, deceptively butterfly-light, and whispered in her ear; "We need to talk." Of course, she said this with her teeth gritted as they flashed in a dazzling smile directed towards the gentleman with whom Mrs. Williams had been occupying herself with.

"But of course, darling," was the return reply, through an even brighter smile, although hers was obviously forced.

The pupil had learned to outperform the teacher.

They found a more secluded room away from the hallway; Mrs. Williams folded her hands in front of her composedly, staring at her daughter with raised eyebrows. She was playing innocent again.

"Why, Lucille - why all this secrecy?"

"Mother, you know perfectly well what I am about to say, but I will reitinerate myself just for the benefit of having a witness, as you so kindly did not allow me one the last time we saw each other. I am not going to mar-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and in walked a face that both Lucy and Joe were quite familiar with, followed by a feminine figure that to Lucy symbolized betrayal.

Sydney Calliote and the cheatess herself, Lady Charlene Kirk, rumored future fiance of the esteemed bachelor Sydney Calliote and former best friend of the most envied of all the San Francisco high society ladies, Lucille Williams.

"Oh, good," Lucy purred, forcing a smile that might as well have been poison; she felt like a volcano, about to erupt, bursting to the brim with anger. "Now it's a party. As I was saying, _Mother_, although God _knows_ you are not deserving of that title, that I am _not_ going to marry Sydney Calliote. I will _not_."

"Yes, you will." Mrs. Williams' eyes were as steel, now - but Joe had seen Lucy this way only once before. She was once again an atomic bomb. Not even her mother's hard soul could deter Lucy; not right now. "You will because I say you will and you are nothing without me."

"Did I say that I was finished, Mother?" Her eyes were as hard as emerald rocks, flashing fire out to consume anyone who fell underneath her gaze. "I am my own person now; I am not a machine for you to program, I am not a doll for you to play with. You need me to marry Sydney, Mother, and don't you forget it. You need to be treating me right for once in your life instead of ordering me to do something that I'm not going to do in the first place."

Mrs. Williams' mouth opened, but Lucy had already moved on; she had whipped around to face Sydney, who seemed to be under heat for the first time in his life, since he didn't know where to look - the terrifying promise of damnation in Lucy's eyes was too much for him to meet. And she hadn't even begun talking before he became uncomfortable.

"And you," she practically growled. "What right do you think _you_ have to treat me like I am nothing, like I am trash, like I am the ground beneath your feet for you to stamp on and abuse! I am a woman and I am a woman who was going to marry you. For once in your life, realize that not everything is about you. You are the worthless one if you think that you are so much better than me that you can treat me the way that you did. You are _nothing_ and you never _will_ be."

Her target changed once again and this time, her eyes burned the most brightly of all. She stalked towards the woman who couldn't even look her in the eyes, just as her supposed 'love' couldn't.

To her, Lucy had one thing and one thing only to say; "Bitch."

Swirling on her feet, Lucy realized with her hand already torpedoing through the air that she had only one thing left to do; her hand met Sydney's cheek with a resounding slap that nearly echoed through the deadly silent room.

She faced them all, her biggest fears impersonified.

"Fuck you," she said with finality before turning on her heel and marching past Joe, grabbing his hand as she stormed out of the room, down the stairs, past the baffled - and indignant - rich pricks who tried to greet her; she bypassed them all, opening the front door herself and leaving her wrap in a closet room somewhere in the house.

And she found that now, she just didn't give a damn about any of them.

**...**

Joe hadn't said a single thing since her tirade against the wretches who had broken her heart three times over; it was a tense - electrically charged - silence and she found herself wondering what was going through his mind, although she almost didn't dare look at him. What did he think of her now, now that he had seen _that_?

What was going through his mind? She was desperate to know. Finally mustering the courage, she glanced over at him and took him in; his hands on the steering wheel, guiding them down the road. His eyes, fastened on what lay ahead of them, but somehow still distant and buried in his thoughts. One elbow was propped up, pressed against the window, his hand resting casually against his temple.

And his lips - his lips were pulled up slightly at the edges in the tiniest of tiny smirks.

But it all combined into a single look that Lucy had never caught him wearing before; a thoughtful expression that suggested perhaps he was thinking about something that he rarely thought about or let himself think about.

"What are you thinking?" The words came out of her mouth before she realized that they had formed and she cursed herself. Her heart was hoping against the odds that his face's articulation was because of her and her alone - her and him alone.

Together.

**...**

Her smooth voice jerked him out of his thoughts violently; "What are you thinking?"

What had he been thinking that he could tell her? He had been thinking of her coming down the stairs again, with her hair golden and her eyes outshining her dress as she stared at him, asking him what he thought of the dress, of her. He had said 'Adequate,' and in his mind, he had never said that. He had said nothing at all, but a body against his and his lips on-

What are you thinking.

The best excuse he had right away rolled off of his tongue with the finality of a hammer; "Dani."

**...**

It wasn't Lucy. It wasn't her. It was Dani. It had always been Dani. It would always _be_ Dani.

It suddenly felt as though her world had been dashed around Lucy's ears. The charged silence still sat there, once again reclaiming its' throne in the presence of the cab's occupants.

They didn't say anything more. In only a few more minutes, the cab rolled to a stop in front of the apartment they called home, but to Lucy, it felt like it was a lifetime.

She dragged herself up the stairs wearily, shambling into the kitchen to conjure up a cup of tea.

"I'm going to grab a few clothes from the dresser," Joe said quietly. She nodded minisculely.

She suddenly didn't feel like having tea anymore. She felt like curling into bed. After all of they had been through together, he didn't care for her any differently.

She waited for a moment, then decided that he must be changing in the bedroom instead of just getting some clothes; she reached for the zipper at the right side of the dress that lay underneath her arm, but it was stuck.

**...**

There was heat coiling inside of his stomach. He needed to get out of her presence to keep himself together, and yet he needed to stay in her presence to bask in the coals that were beginning to enflame him with every thought of his mind. She had said he spent too much time in his head.

Damn was she ever right.

He muttered something about having to get clothes from the dresser and he stepped into the bedroom at her acquiescence, going over to the dresser, but pausing with his hands on the handles of the drawers, bowing his head and wondering what the hell he was doing.

What the hell he had _been_ doing, thinking-

What the hell was he waiting for.

His feet carried him back to the doorway, where he could see her pulling half-heartedly on her zipper.

What the hell.

**...**

She felt a light touch on her arm. She almost expected it to whisk away immediately, as it always had before, but it stayed, warm and rough against her smooth skin. She turned slowly, not knowing what he was doing or what to expect. Had he noticed how she must look at him? What was he going to say?

He didn't say anything as their eyes met for a split second; then she found his lips were on hers and it was heaven, heaven, heaven as he kissed her, over and over and over, as their mouths moved together in the most intricate dance she had ever performed. Their tongues joined the tango, his arms slipped around her, bending her into his torso, molding her body to his.

_Ring ring. Ring ring._

For a moment, they hung perilously in the midst of the clouds, and then the persistent ringing of the telephone brought them crashing back to earth. The same earth where they were destined to seperate and discover that the other's lips were deliciously red and kissed too hard to disguise; and oh, what they wouldn't give to return to such a safe haven, where there was nothing but the other's arms and embrace.

He looked at her for a moment and she looked at him; her lips were magnetic, he decided as he was drawn back to her mouth. Fuck the call.

The ring ring ended and bliss was theirs once more. Until the telephone began to ring again and again and again.

A growl emerged from the back of his throat. An absence appeared in his arms when he stepped away from the wall they had apparently pressed themselves against and grabbed the telephone; an absence that almost hurt, it was so painful.

"Joe," he rumbled. But even then, he wasn't really listening; his eyes were drawn back to the smoky green gaze of the woman waiting for him, leaning against the wall now, watching him, clearly uncomposed. Her bedroom eyes were beckoning to him and he gloried in the knowledge that he was the only one who had the ability to do this to her.

But then his ears connected back to his brain for one short moment and he realized that the woman on the other end of the line was the woman he had known for years and she was saying "need you now. Hurry."

"Just tell me now," he argued, craving the embrace of the woman across the room - but his protest came too late; there was an audible click and the line went dead.

His lungs sighed as his hand put the telephone back in its' cradle. He reached for his discarded jacket, once again, smiling apologetically at Lucy and saying; "Dani wants me. I'll try to be back soon."

His eyes held a promise for something more, and it was a something more that Lucy was willing to wait for with a quivering stomach and a smile that seemed to be glued to her lips. It felt like an eternity, and yet it was such a short eternity, as she kept reliving the glorious feeling of his lips on hers and his wonderful smell - of wood and leather and spices and so many things that she couldn't even begin to think of - and the heaven that she had found in his arms.

But when he opened the door and closed it behind him, there was a serious expression on his face, and he said goodnight to her in the most subdued fashion she had ever seen. He said goodnight, when what seemed to be only moments before, only a short while ago, that very night, he had held her in his arms and kissed her and looked at her with a promise in his eye-

A promise that he would finish what he had begun.

But left only with a goodnight and not even a glance, Lucy went to bed, but stayed awake, wondering-

And coming to the conclusion that Joe had thought that what had happened was a mistake.

**...**

**Review Replies & A/N;s**

**Auluna;** Hahaha! I want to be in a foxhole with Perco and Christenson! (Who doesn't?) You made me laugh. :D

**dudeurfugly;** I hope the ball lived up to your anticipations! Joe would have backed her up if she needed it, but I think this was something she needed to do on her own, you know? The envelope was basically a metaphor, but it was basically putting out the appearance of being innocent, when actually it contained very bad news, so it was deceiving; I meant it in a comparison with Lucy's mother and that entire situation. As to the rest of the review, I really don't know what to say! It meant the world to me to hear that you think of me and my writing like that, and it was - it was so indescribably. Whenever I talk about my writing with my family or with anybody else, they all compare me to my sister, who was - no offense to her - a crappy author. And to hear that one review, it was like "...Is this everyone? Have I been fooling myself?" And what you said just completely blew my mind. I felt so... there's no words! Thank you. :)

**HappysOldLady;** I guess Joe's hardass moments bypass his tender moments so much that they forgot the tender moments - I don't know. And I think the mother thing is definitely something only people who've gone through it can understand. I loved the way you expressed your opinion, though. It was hilarious. It made my frigging day! :D

**XPoisonButterflyX; **I love how well you understand Joe! I hope I was able to convey that through my writing, because that's completely how I see him too! And Lucy has come a long way, I think, but then again, she's gone through a lot to get to where she is now.

**FireIsLove;** What's crawling up Dani's ass? Oh, I'll get to that :D But her mama can't really disown her without getting Lucy's father involved in it - and I wish that I could explain it to you right now, but it would give away the rest of the story, and I just can't bring myself to do that :( but I do promise that I will dissect Dani's feelings in full in either the next chapter or the one after that. :) (And Joe can definitely be a sweetheart. ;D)

**Audrey Jenkins; **Awh! First off, I'd just like to say that I couldn't agree more about Twilight and its' "character development," which is about the same as Kristen Stewart's facial expressions - unchanging. But thank you _so much_ for what you said about me and my writing. I've almost been raised by my parents to doubt myself and I've always doubted if I really, truly have a talent or if people just followed the story because they thought it was, you know, whatever. (Plus, Twilight got good reviews - and if Twilight can get good reviews, then what is my writing, right?) That's basically what ran through my head. So thank you, so much, for your love and support :) yours was definitely one of the best reviews I have ever recieved in my life, no lie, no exaggeration.

**mysterious victoria;** I know I replied to your review in a message, but I just had to reply to the section that wasn't cut off, because you said that I made you like Joe. Which, I have to say very quickly, just very quickly, is a huge compliment! Like, massive compliment! Joe's under-rated, I think. So thank you, so much. :)

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM;** Thank you :) your review was short and sweet and yet it said so much. All I can really say is thanks, because it means a lot that - well, basically that you've been reading this junk for so long! Haven't you been reading my stuff for about a year and a half now? I just realized it a few minutes ago, and you've always been there, supporting me and being so undescribably awesome! I just _cannot_ thank you enough.

**ber1719;** I can only say that what you said in your review both meant the world to me and was hilarious (your phrasing was priceless) and you inspired me with what you said about Lucy's mother and how Lucy was going to give it to her. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter (:D) like you did the last one. And when I think about Joe & Lucy being your favorite BoB couple - aaaah, it makes me want to scream with happiness! :D I feel like I could smile forever when I think about it!

**ruthie-r89; **About Dani's situation, something big is definitely going to be happening :) I don't know if you read my Dani fic (Memoirs of Girl, Disappeared) but there's a lot of emotions that will be rampaging around. And there wasn't any offense :) I honestly wasn't offended. I swear to you, cross my heart and hope to die, pinky promise that I wasn't offended. I was a bit disheartened, but only because I was raised to believe that I will never be better than my sister and my sister's writing was crap. So... it wasn't you; really, it wasn't. It was me reading something and interpreting it different than you meant it. Plus, it made me start thinking that maybe other readers were actually thinking like that and I realized that I needed to set things straight on that record. So I think I should thank you for that :)

**HeadbangGirl; **Ooooooh, I don't even know what to say to you xD your reviews make my day. And Joe in a tux should make anyone start drooling. I mean, if people don't start drooling over Joe in the tux, what hope is there for the world? What's the matter with Dani? Hmmmm. You've read Memoirs, so I'll just tell you right now; in the last chapter, she was thinking about the reunion. The play she was setting up for when Joe & Lucy went to go see her was the play that she realized she needed to stop running from her past/George, and she left right after that, without telling Joe. You want some Luz-love in here? ...I WANT SOME SOOOO BADLY! *bashes hands on keyboard frantically* I'll see if I can, but no promises. If I can't, there's a new Luz/OC story, I don't know if you've read it or not, but it's by **dudeurfugly** and it's been helping me with my Luz thirst. I miss writing my Luzzy, though. :( P.S. I just entered a few lines about Joe in a tux for you. It's not much, but I tried!

**Heartbeats77; **Hahaha! Dani + Joe + pink bridesmaid's dress + begging on a street will be an interesting scene from Joe's perspective! It was so much fun to write the first time around, and now... well, now it will be even better! I actually put Dan into _Lights_ because she was so important to Joe after the war - and even during the war, actually. But thank you! :) (I get carried away with myself, explaining xD Sorry!)

**the everchanging; **I'm glad you're back! (: I hope I updated quickly enough. If not, well, my defense is that I was having writer's block disease and it was slowwwww going for a little while. It was horrible! Anyways. I hope you enjoyed. :D

**e;** Thank you! :) I hope you enjoyed!


	18. Goodbye

**A/N;** OHMYGOODNESS. I'M BACK! Suffice to say, I feel horrible for having put any of my writing on delay, but I'm feeling absolutely refreshed - it might be because I'm feeling high off of Arizona Tea - and I'm as smartass as ever. Unfortunately, this isn't a smartass area of the story. Sadly. But! Here are the beloved honorable mentions of this chapter;

**XPoisonButterfly, Auluna, Thornstorm, HeadbangGirl, ruthie-r89, dudeurfugly, FireIsLove, HappysOldLady, Heartbeats77, mysterious victoria, Amyloo, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, CP2girls,** and **Londelle;** to you guys, you lot are the most fabulous in the world and I love you guys so, so, so much. Thank you for all the support that has continued all the way up to this chapter. You amaze me every single time. That having been said, enjoy. :)

Oh. And Read & Review? :D

**Chapter 18**** - Goodbye**

_Why don't you love me?_

_Tell me, baby, why don't you love me_

_When I make me so damn easy to love_

_Why don't you need me?_

_Tell me, baby, why don't you need me_

_When I make me so damn easy to need_

**(Why Don't You Love Me - Beyonce)**

Sleep would not come to her, no matter how many times she squeezed her eyes shut and wished as hard as she could for it - it just would not come, perhaps chased away by the echoes of the single thought that raced through her mind and channeled through her brain.

He didn't want her. He didn't want her. He didn't want her. He didn't want her.

He didn't _want_ her.

Why didn't he want her? Why, why, why, why? Couldn't he see that loving Dani was hopeless? Couldn't he just _see_?

If he didn't want her, then she couldn't stand to be in his presence. If he knew, then she couldn't face him; knowing what his lips felt and tasted like, hearing his voice in her ears, feeling his touch on her skin - she simply couldn't.

The dawn came after long, grueling hours of restless moving and sweaty sheets, overheated pillows and a flushed face; the sun finally rose and with it Joe Liebgott. She could hear his footsteps in the doorway, feel his eyes looking down on her, checking to see if she was awake or not. He probably wanted to talk about just being friends or some such. She remained absolutely motionless, resolutely turning into stone for the benefit of his gaze.

She heard him turn away; then the door slid open and clicked shut quietly. It felt strange to hear him leaving in the morning. To lie there and listen to him depart and to think that before, she had gone with him, to be dropped off at work-

That wouldn't happen anymore. She couldn't.

When Joe Liebgott came back to the apartment after a few hours of discussing things with Dani, he found the apartment empty of all human life and a single piece of paper with one word written across it in a handwriting that he had come to know very well.

_Goodbye_.

**...**

Work continued on as usual, even if she was a bit more quiet and she sometimes found it difficult to do anything, anything at all - it was all she had to try and take her mind off of Joe. Joe and his not wanting her.

So on and on and on her typewriter clacked, on and on and on her pen scratched in an attempt to fix any errors she might have made on her articles. On and on and on she worked and worked and worked, all in a vain attempt to forget the one man that she knew that she never would.

And then one person arrived; a devil in the guise of an angel, a snake in the guise of a lamb.

"Lucille," she said stiffly.

The surprised girl's head drew up from where she had been studying her latest draft intently, replying "Hello, Mother," almost dazedly.

The office door closed behind them; when it re-opened, the elder of the two women it had encased left, feeling satisfied, even as the younger tried to accustom herself to the idea that had been implanted in her head.

What did she have now? If she married Sydney, she was guaranteed a life that, while it wouldn't be loving, would be safe. Her mother had introduced her to the possibility that perhaps Sydney was attempting to reconcile himself with being engaged. Done it in a wrong way, yes, definitely, but he had not meant any harm to their relationship - and her loving mother had concealed it from 'Lucille' in a desperate attempt to keep the happy couple together and, well, happy.

She, as her mother, had acted out of desperation. That was all it had been. And now, with her being as sweet as honey, Lucy was beginning to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing or not.

Either way, there were stabs of pain at her temple as she attempted to puzzle it out. To be married to Sydney might mean to no longer think of Joe.

Perhaps that was the reason she picked up the telephone's receiver, dialed a number that she had often answered, listened for her mother's voice, and finally said; "Fine."

She was a bride-to-be again when she bent her head back over her draft, composed and detached from everything.

It was all a dream. Perhaps she would awake to coffee on her bedside table and the entire thing would never have happened. Joe would never have been wonderful; he would never have remembered her. She would never have had the encounter that had changed her life. Sydney would never have cheated. Her mother would never have been 'desperate.'

It was all a dream, she told herself before concentrating back on her paper. It was all a dream.

**...**

**Reviews Replies & A/N;s**

**XPoisonButterflyX;** Awwwh! Best kiss? Like, ever? I'm so flattered! :D Really, I am! You set me to breathlessly laughing in embarassment at your compliments at my style and such. That's what I do when I'm too flattered for words, so I can't really think of anything else to say but THANK YOU! I already thought of doing a Eugene/OC and I decided to do it :) but I don't know when I c_an_ because I'm already so tied down. I have two stories to complete, another one promised, and then I will get to it! I cannot wait to get inside his amazing mind! :D

**Auluna;** Well, you know ;) you can't help but root for Winters, right? I'm quite proud of how far Lucy has come - I feel like I'm her adoptive mother or something. And Lucy seriously needs to GET SOME, just saying, right? haha.

**Thornstorm;** Joe in a tux is definitely a delicious sight, aye? xD Lucy has definitely improved, I agree haha. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter! :)

**HeadbangGirl;** I love how you correct my grammar :D but I don't like that you disliked Dani, for even a second :( poor clueless Dani. (But to be honest, I disliked Dani for a few moments there, too. I was like NOOOO, LET THE KISS CONTINUE! But no. Stupid Dani.) You definitely have a good influence on me, since you made Lucy giddy with Joe-in-a-tux sights. Aiiieeee, I get a churning in my stomach, thinking about it! And I can't even reply to the rest of your review because it's just so amazing! Have I ever told you that I love you? Because I do! I can't believe that you think Lucy and Joe are one of the best BOB couples ever :3 and I will definitely try to put some Luzzy love in here. Definitely ;D and I guess you're going to go crazy from Joe not doing something sweet, because... unfortunately, well, we see how it turns out. I love it when you go crazy! It makes me HAPPY! ;D And we definitely have a special bond lawl. Luz story is Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree, yes. You are completely right. Thoughts on my recommendation? I wish I could update soon with lots of Joe, but I promise there will be... NEXT CHAPTER. Next chapter, there will be like, a prominence of Joe. (And Dani. xD) But I wish I could do more kissing scenes! Mournful sigh. P.S. I LOVE YOU! Haha. P.P.S. I hope you feel special for getting a really long reply :p it's just what you do to me.

**ruthie-r89;** Best chapter? EVER? :D Squeee! Well, if you're looking forward to drama and complications, you won't be disappointed, lawl. This ends up in a doozy, as you can see by reading this chapter. I'm so sorry that I didn't post this chapter very quickly - it took two weeks. I am angry with myself - but it's better than, like, two years, right? *Cringe* Riiiight? haha. But seriously, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I promise to update more frequently. :)

**dudeurfugly;** Poor Lucy won't know anything for a while yet. I quite feel bad for her as a character because she has to go through my brain and my schemes aren't exactly a pleasant thing. It made me so happy to write the kiss and then Dani had to interrupt :( I'm so sorry that I had writer's block and wasn't able to update soon, but I hope that the next two chapters will make up for it. :)

**FireIsLove;** Haha, yes, hot damn! Gotta let you know, I started grinning at that point in your review. It cracked me up. Unfortunately, Joe's too proud to express himself too much right now. And don't worry, Joe ditching hot fun for Dani will definitely be explained :) next chapter. I hate making you wait! But I have to. I will definitely be adding Luzzy bits ;) only a little bit, or else I'll become re-addicted and we can't have that, but I will definitely add a little bit :D Lucy's parents are a complicated story. Unfortunately enough. But I will discuss in the next two chapters! Pinky promise!

**HappysOldLady;** I'm so sorry that it took so long to post. I really have no excuses, I don't have ANY. (Well, I have a few, but I won't state them. I have excuses for everything.) But I am so sorry that it took so long. :( And I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)

**Heartbeats77;** I am so sorry that I didn't post very quickly! I feel so terrible. Unfortunately, as you can see, Joe and Lucy DIDN'T pick it up where they left off. Joe's confused and Lucy's confused as to him being confused. It's a big mess. But I promise I will delve into it and dissect it to your heart's content! Deal? :)

**mysterious victoria;** YES! THEY NEED TO MAKE OUT LIKE NO TOMORROW! I wish they could! I'm glad you brought up the meeting-Mommy-after-the-ball, since, well, if you've already read the chapter (which you probably have) you know where I'm going with this. And it should be interesting, yes? Lucy's best friend was scheduled to be the maid of honor, let's put it that way. :) I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long and I hope you liked this chapter! :)

**Amyloo; **I'm sorry it took me so long to update! I had writer's exhaustion, or whatever it's called, and I had plum written myself out into exhaustion and stress and whatnot. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Did you like this chapter anyway? :3

**cHoCoLaTe-RuM; **Lucy feels awful, I can tell you that. Plum awful. :( Poor Lu. I put her through so much. But I'm sorry I kept you waiting for this chapter. I didn't mean to. D:

**CP2girls; **Joe's an idiot; he doesn't think and he doesn't talk, he just does junk and then gets confused afterwards. (Not reall, but in this position, it's true. Sadly.) Weeeeell, I think she just lost like half of her backbone. No worries, she'll get it back. But she's lost it for now. And again, just saying; I don't compare you at ALL with Lady Charlene Kirk of the high-society Kirks, or whatever their hoity-toity description is. I just love your name, so I decided to use it :D

**Londelle; **Awh! Thank you, dear! I'm so honored to have you say so. :D Of course I will continue writing! I believe in finishing my stories, and I usually post every week, but I've had writer's exhaustion - or whatever you want to call it - for about two weeks now. It sucked. But I'm back! And I'm so happy that you like this story :D I love you too, for what it's worth haha. I loved getting your review. :) I hope you continue to like it as much as you originally did and I can't wait to hear your input on this chapter!

**A/N TO EVERYONEEEEE; AS IN EVERYONEEEEE.** Everybody reading this now? Probably not? Okay. Well, I've basically said everything to everyone. But I'm just announcing this now; the way that I'm planning this thing, I should be finished with this story in two chapters. Just wanted to make that quick announcement, in case I haven't already. Anyways. Go and leave a review! Pretty please?


	19. Snarled in Suffocation

**A/N;** What, me? No, I'm not late updating. Not at all. (Shhh! Don't contradict me! If I say 'I'm not late' enough, I might believe it. Hopefully...)

So, uh, update on me? Possibly. I have a high C in my favorite subject. That might be because I sucked the test, might be because I forgot to study for it, might be because I've been a little preoccupied in class because the two new guys sit across from me and next to me. And they both like me.

You see what I've been up to.

Hahaha. Just kidding. Kind of. I've recently turned 15. Like, two weeks ago. Still counts, right? While I'm on the subject of birthdays, happy birthday to **CP2girls** :) I'm sorry I didn't tell you on the actual day!

But seriously? I've been working my butt off at school. Just got my permit, so I've been trying to learn how to drive. Convincing my parents to let me manage boys basketball. Making new friends. You know. The usual.

Anywaaaaays. This chapter is dedicated to the fantastic **Auluna, Shockin'BlueEyes, Thornstorm, ruthie-r89, HeadbangGirl, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, XPoisonButterflyX, dudeurfugly, Londelle, Amyloo, Heartbeats77, CP2girls, E, the everchanging, **

OH! And this is the second-to-last chapter. Just so you know where everything is standing. I think the last chapter is probably going to be super-long. But. Anyways.

Read & Review? (:

**Chapter 19**** - Snarled in Suffocation**

I woke up tired and feeling old

And I wondered why my bed was cold

And I thought could you have gone

And if so , where and how long

And why would I let you go?

Why would I ever let you go?

**(The Thoughts That Give Me The Creeps - Hellogoodbye)**

The theater stood tall and silent in a sea of rushing bodies and blurred faces. Its static calmness was disturbed only by the rushing tap-tap of a woman's footsteps and the swinging open of the entrance door.

Delvina Argodale was in a hurry. She had decided in her mind to have a discussion with a certain man about a particular subject - and now he was waiting for her and she had nothing prepared - not even the slightest idea of how to distract Lucy away from the conversation so that Joe would be able to speak freely - and all because she had let Time slip through her fingers to write a script whose inspiration couldn't have waited another moment. She had only remembered that it was his time when the telephone began to ring and she started to her own self, seated in her own chair, in her own world.

Joe always called before he arrived.

She wasn't able to pick up the receiver because she had jumped from her chair in frantic worry - only to realize that nothing could be done and she would just have to wing it.

Within what seemed mere seconds, she found herself outside on the sidewalk, looking around for his distinctive figure and, finally, she found him standing only ten feet away, leaning casually against the storefront of _Hedger & Sons Bakery_, his hands thrown into his pants pockets and his jacket whispering carelessly about his skinny frame.

Joseph Liebgott.

She allowed herself a brief, amused smile before starting towards him, yet her footsteps slowed as his face became more visible to her. She knew the expression implanted there too well for concern to not boil up inside of her stomach; it was one of being a soldier in a very cold war, of being determined to be impassive and emotionless, of being disappointed and never having their faith reappointed.

It was the look of a being who was alone.

Indeed, he was alone, she noticed, which made her gait falter once more. Either Lucy had become transparent and turned invisible or she had not come along. Why she would not have, Dani had no idea - she had specifically told Joe that she needed to speak to Lucy about certain things, even if the certain things that she needed to talk about with Lucy weren't as important as the sneaked conversation she needed to hold with Joe.

_Well, that takes care of having to try to distract Lucy,_ Dani thought wryly as Joe turned to face her and she smiled brightly, concealing her concerns of Lucy's whereabouts. Lucy had always come before. Why wouldn't she have this time?

If something had gone wrong between them - thus canceling the need of having 'The Conversation' - then it wouldn't be good to make Joe be around somewhere that he had been with Lucy many times before.

"Joe," Dani exclaimed, as if seeing him was a surprise. "I've gotten tired of the theater. Let's go walking! I want some ice cream."

She couldn't know. She couldn't have possibly known that whatever she had done wouldn't have mattered to him because when Dani grabbed his arm and practically marched along the sidewalk for a few blocks until she reached an ice cream stand, he was only thinking of the sunlight glinting off of Lucy's shining locks, her hand in his, and the sun on their faces.

He came to himself only when the ice cream cone was being shoved in his hand and he was pulled once more. Now he sped up, however, and Dani assumed that this was because he was now safe to be questioned. She didn't guess that he had only sped up to catch up to her and then match her footsteps just to try and escape his own thoughts, to keep his facade locked together as tightly as possible.

To give up the mask now would be to give up everything. He had already determined not to feel anything, not to think anything, and not to want anything. Joe Liebgott was the type of man who set his eyes on the impossible and tried to make it happen inside of himself.

But Dani didn't know this. While she did have an inkling about his personality, she couldn't spare a glance over because she knew that it would catch his attention if he wasn't lost in his thoughts once more. Therefore she couldn't see his face. If she had seen his face, perhaps she wouldn't have said what she did.

But she didn't see his face.

"So," she drawled, trying to make it seem like it had come out of the blue. "Where's Lucy?"

Three words. Three words that might as well have been the cord attaching dynamite to a fuse; a very short fuse.

"I don't know," he snarled, his eyes abruptly bursting into flames and his mouth turning to a ferocious snarl. "I'm not her fucking keeper."

The silence that followed hung in the air like an ominous cloud seems to shut out the sun when it passes over it. If she had taken the chance now and looked over to see his expression, perhaps she would have seen the realization of what he had just done and apology for it creep over his face. But she didn't. His mind searched for a way to express his feeling of regret into words but there was nothing to make up for it; finally, he simply asked, "Why?" as a peace offering, an olive branch, and an apology, all wrapped into one word.

"I was going to ask her to be my maid of honor, remember?"

Ah. Yes. How could he forget?

He didn't realize Dani's eyes were on him until her voice spoke and he was startled out of the thoughts that he hadn't noticed he'd buried himself in.

"What happened, Joe?"

"She left. Two weeks ago."

He didn't offer any more information and she didn't ask for any more. If it was all that Joe was going to give, then it was all she was going to take. It was as simple as that.

She had originally intended to dedicate this particular meeting to talking to Joe about his intentions towards Lucy. Dani had noticed his behavior - and Lucy's, for that matter - and she had decided that she would let well enough beget well enough.

That would have been all good and well begetting well enough, but then she realized that Joe was probably quite clueless to the half of the entire matter and that it would probably need a little bit of poking and prodding. Happily enough, she hadn't needed to. When she had called Joe two weeks earlier and he had come before her with his blood still pumping rapidly, his lips red, and his attitude impatient, she had realized that something had happened between the two of them, although she wasn't sure exactly how far it had gone or what the extent of it was.

But she knew something had happened. She began to think that Lucy didn't have anyone to advocate for her - she'd never spoken of her father and her mother was obviously a self-righteous, controlling bitch - so who was going to talk some sense into Joe?

_Get the fuck married, Joe,_ Dani would have said had she been given a proper opportune moment. _Get the fuck married and don't make me whoop your scrawny little paratrooper ass._

Now Lucy was gone and Joe was -

Joe was broken.

She could see it in his face when she could take the time to examine his features. Anyone could have seen it except for himself because the man was simply too stubborn to admit when something was wrong and too proud to say anything about it if he ever did admit it.

The entire thing was a fucking mess.

It was her job to pick Joe up, wrap a sheet around his wounded soul, and lead him onwards as far as she could. There was no telling why Lucy had left. But she had and that was that and they needed to move on.

Easier determined than done.

**...**

The mannequin stood in the middle of the room, still and stone-like, as assistants clustered around her with scissors and needles in their hands. Her face was smooth and expressionless, as cloudy glass that had once been transparent. The imperious voice giving orders did not seem to reach her ears; indeed, she did not seem to notice anything that was going on around her.

But she did.

_Am I to be walking down the aisle as a possession - as Lucille Vanessa Williams, trophy wife and ultimate socialite with a massive wedding with lace and a ten-tier wedding cake,_ she wondered._ Or - or! Or will I - or would I rather be married in a nightgown with only a vulgar nickname to identify myself by. Lucy._ A smile almost reached her smiles at the thought, but then she remembered where she was, and the curl to her lips immediately disappeared.

She was not being measured for the right wedding. She was being measured to be buried alive, to walk down the aisle to her own death, and to smile while she was doing it. She was not being measured to be happy. She was being measured and being judged before being sold with a pricetag attached to her golden curls.

Dolls had to be bought. Dolls had to be perfect if they were to be bought.

"Are you ready for the petticoats?" A small voice asked her and, for the first time, she moved to look at the tiny girl who was standing before her. Lucy was just opening her mouth to answer - but no, that same voice cut her off; that same commanding voice cut her off.

"Yes, we are ready."

Mother of all mothers, Mrs. Williams, had remained by her daughter's side through the entire process, making sure that everything was perfect to the minute detail. Including her daughter, if that meant that she had to drag away any scraps of humanity that Lucy might have had left within her bones. Instead, she wished for her daughter to wear smiles of dazzling white teeth and rings of sparkling diamonds on her ring finger.

Even if it be against Lucy's wishes.

One of the elder daughters departed into an adjoining room to fetch the petticoats but she was immediately followed by Mrs. Williams or, as the shopgirls had begun to call her, 'The Terror.'

"How can you stand it," whispered the tiny girl to Lucy. "How?" Her large brown eyes stared up at the girl who had been silent until now, standing with white cloth gathered ruthlessly around her like a large cloud of heavy rain. Beautiful - yet not right.

Before Lucy could answer, the small girl heard her mother's voice calling her name, and she scampered off with a skip. It was obvious that anyone who cared enough to watch her that she loved her mother and did not hesitate to run into her arms. Lucy did care enough to see it and it left her there, stunned.

How _had_ she stood it?

How had she stood it for these past two weeks?

She didn't know. Perhaps it was because she had resigned herself to a fate that was undeserved but looming all the same. The way she had looked at it, if Joe was everything she had and she did not have him, she had nothing. If she had nothing, she had nothing. She wanted more than nothing - but Joe would never see her as more, if he hadn't seen her as more after what had happened the night of the ball.

If Joe would never-

She didn't want to think about it. Then her mother had come, saying that it was 'advisable' that Lucy marry Sydney. If Lucy married Sydney, there was a guarantee of having everything, every day for the rest of her life. If Lucy married Sydney, if Lucy married Sydney, if Lucy married Sydney-

But all that Lucy thought of when she heard her mother say those words was; _If I marry Sydney. If I marry Sydney, I won't be able to think of Joe anymore._

The problem was that just because she was marrying another man didn't mean that she would stop thinking about the only man she could only ever think about now.

She had gone down a fork in the road from whence there was no return.

Suddenly, the dress suffocated her where she stood on the pedestal - and by God, she needed to get down. Her feet stepped off of the raised platform and carried her out the door, through the shop, and into the bustling sidewalk. She was alone with people surrounding her, still.

But the air was familiar and the sounds of people moving around her helped. Perhaps one of these people had a situation like hers. Perhaps. It was these days when she was so completely and smotheringly alone.

Perhaps she was doing the wrong thing. She knew that. She didn't deny it; she was doing the wrong thing. But what else did she have to do? It was Joe or her mother; she didn't have the time to get an apartment in order and anyone at work would be useless - press fed off of press - and Dani was Joe's. Lucy would not have been able to look at Dani's face without thinking of Joe.

Joe or Mother.

Perhaps he wanted her. What if he did? She could go to him- but no, if he wanted her, he could come for her. Perhaps she had backed herself up into a corner and physically drawn her enemies around her so he would realize that he _did_ want her. Perhaps she didn't realize this consciously. Perhaps she didn't even realize that she was waiting for him to rescue her at all.

Perhaps.

She needed an escape.

"Well, well," a voice jerked her out of her thoughts and she looked up to meet twinkling eyes that matched her solemn irises. "If it isn't my beautiful baby girl."

She managed a smile for what felt like the first time in a thousand years; "Hi Daddy," she said in a voice that might have reminded the hearer of a little girl, lost in a hopeless maze without an exit and no visible entrance.

"Long time, no see," he joked, hoping to see her small smile widen into a beam. It didn't. He didn't have to be told that something was wrong now. His daughter had always smiled at his jokes before and unless something was drastically wrong, she still would have. That was simply her. "How's your mother?"

"She's inside." He noted that she told him Mrs. Williams' position, not her standing. "Daddy - why did you leave Mother?"

Straight to the point now, was she? He couldn't say that he minded. He'd never particularly liked the reporter style of asking questions. They tricked you into saying things that you weren't supposed to say unless you were careful.

Why did you leave, she'd asked. Why did you leave.

A rush of breath exited from his mouth, a half-formed answer that had never made itself into words.

"I left," he finally said, "because I did not want you to grow up seeing that I had let myself settle for something that did not make me happy. Being away made me happier than being there and I thought long and hard about it. But I could not stay with your mother a moment longer."

She nodded slowly.

"Lucy," he said quietly, "what's going on?"

The name made tears come to her eyes. It spoke of Joe - yet it also spoke of times when her father would come home from work and call her by his special name for her; "Lucy, Lucy!" When he had left, her mother had slapped her hand whenever she would say the name.

Then again, her mother had also told her that her father had left because he did not care enough about them to stay. That he had cheated on his wife. That he was therefore the most vulgar man on the planet and vulgar was a bad thing, so anything connected to him was vulgar and harmful.

When he had visited - and those were few and far between - they had not spoken of why he had done what he had done.

"Oh, Daddy." She wiped at her eyes a little too harshly and faced him again. "It's nothing."

It was nothing if everything was nothing.

"Lucille Vanessa, there you are. I have been looking all over for you," that grating voice said from behind her. "What are you thinking, coming out into the street in your dress? Get back inside, immediately. Do you want to get photographed in your dress and the images to get leaked? Get inside. Now."

She turned to go, pausing to say something to her father - but he was already gone, vanished into the crowd.

She was alone once again.


	20. Found

**A/N; **I am delirious on exhaustion. I would tell you all about it, but I'm not exactly sure that you want to hear about my sleep schedule. Or my school schedule. So, in other news, I got punched in the throat in the middle of English, my Drama team won 3rd in Region, and I'm attempting to get a job. You know what that means; even LESS writing time. But it's all for a good cause; University of Oregon. Don't worry - I won't disappear completely. Ever. I'm sorry this took so long, but here it is, and thanks is due to the incredible, deliriously so, and superfrigginglicious people; **Auluna, ruthie-r89, Shockin'BlueEyes, Thornstorm, HeadbangGirl, E, dudeurfugly, CP2girls, ber1719, Londelle, wendydarlings,** and** TheMaggleton**; You guys are incredible. Thank you for all the support you have given me, and I'm sorry that I was not able to reply and update more quickly. I miss the summer.

I also miss my bed. Cough. Oh, yeah. Almost died of smoke inhalation today, too.

Anyway. Since this _does_ happen to be the last chapter, would you mind making me the happiest girl in the whole entire world and R**ead & Review**ing? :) Pretty please?

**Chapter 20**** - Found**

Silence.

It was not the silence of peace, nor the silence of war. It was not the silence of weariness, the silence of joy, the silence of a job well done and a task well accomplished, nor the silence of tears. It was not the silence of death nor the silence of life.

It was the silence of silences that filled what might have been a living room; the furniture sagged and was torn in places, the carpet was stained and miserable, but in that room, a single man sat and the only movement in his entire world was the beating of his heart, the motion of his lungs, and the tormenting thoughts in his mind. Perhaps that was why he was bent over, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Perhaps that was why he slumped as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders.

Perhaps it was because of the newspaper that lay on the couch beside him, pages flipped open to the _Society _section, folded to showcase the wedding announcements.

Or perhaps it was simply because the weight of the world truly was on his shoulders.

He could remember his own once upon a time; a time when he was happy, a time when her laughter rang out and filled the air, a time when her voice soothed away his every anger and unconscious fear, a time when her breath took away his breath and replaced it with joy-

But these times were over. Now there was nothing; she had gone and taken with her his happiness, the same happiness that she had unknowingly held in the palms of her hands.

Joe Liebgott was a desolate man.

For a single moment, he unwittingly considered running after her. But what would he do, what would he say? She had left him. If she really, truly wanted him, then she would return. That was that. He would not allow himself to beg. He would _not_ allow himself to beg.

**...**

People will see what they want to see, whether what they want to see is truly in front of their eyes or not.

When people looked at the ultimate socialite of the city, they saw a woman named Lucille Vanessa Williams, dressed in a shimmering dress, wearing a sparkling smile and an expression that told everyone who cared to look at her that she was happy and joyful and so excited for the wedding that she thought her heart might burst - !

Yet when this woman looked in the mirror, she saw none of these things. She saw a scared little girl named Lucy whose father hadn't returned one day, whose love didn't want her, who went around wearing a big, white smile because other people wanted her to. And she was tired. She was so _tired_. Her cheeks ached and her feet were sore, but she kept smiling and she kept walking through the seemingly continuous parties that her mother kept throwing.

The socialites of San Francisco were a group of rich elite money-spenders who liked to stay up late at night, drinking too much champagne, laughing too loudly, smiling too fakely, and staying far too late into the evening, the night, and eventually the morning.

On and on and on it had gone.

There was only a week left until the wedding. One week left to be alive. One week to treasure her last moments. One week.

**...**

It was the day. Dani's big day; Lucy's big day. Two weddings in the same day; one in the afternoon, one nearer to the evening.

Joe Liebgott straightened his necktie, peeking into the other room to check on the nervous bride.

"You okay, Dani?" He called.

"Yeah. Can you come button me up?"

There she stood, her back to him, dressed in a simple white dress with little white buttons up the back. _Painfully_ little buttons, he decided as he tried to make them fit into the also excruciatingly small loopholes that they were supposed to go through. The skin on his hands brushed Dani's exposed back - and there was nothing. It was only skin on skin.

He couldn't say that he was surprised, however, and perhaps that was what surprised him. He had known that he was in love with Lucy since he saw the empty bed and the empty room and the empty apartment, and felt the empty feeling she had left him with.

"All done," he said abruptly, finally squeezing the last button through its obnoxiously small buttonhole. He wanted to stop thinking about it all.

"Thanks, Joe." She turned around and ran an eye up and down his outfit, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "I thought you were going to wear your uniform."

"Yeah. Didn't feel like it. Got a problem?"

"No. I just don't think I've ever seen you in a suit, let alone a black one with a necktie. Shit. I definitely haven't."

"I wanted to spare you the experience of going blind from overexposure to true beauty."

She slapped at his arm and he laughed. Another unwelcome revelation came; this is what they were. Dani and Joe. Joe and Dani. Brother and sister. Comrades. Siblings. Best friends. And he knew that was he would not have it any other way if he had the choice.

Perhaps it was his fault that Lucy had left. How was she to know that her kiss had sent him to the clouds and crashed him down to earth if he did not tell her?

But now it was time to get ready to walk Dani down the aisle. He mumbled something about not wanting to be a man of honor who had to walk a broad down an aisle when she had two perfectly fine feet at her own disposal for her own usage - how he'd always known that Dani was going to marry George ever since that one time in Germany, how he was glad that he didn't want to wear a pink dress, and how much he wished Lu -

He shut his mouth, sneaking a glance over at Dani. Her eyes were glazed over; she was turning into a ball of nerves and he could see it in her face. Her thoughts were clear in her face; _What if he changed his mind? What if he doesn't want me anymore? What if -_

But it was time and he needed to provide her with an escape. So he held his arm out to her, waiting until she had looped her arm through his before he gave a nod to the only usher and the double doors were opened. And as he walked her down the aisle, he felt proud when she straightened up and smiled. There stood George Luz, waiting with the largest and brightest smile anyone had ever seen him wear.

Yet Joe felt mildly hypocritical. Here he was, helping Dani and holding her up in encouragement when he couldn't even get the fuck over his own pride and go to Lucy to at least see her one last time. To tell her. To give himself a chance.

Suddenly, he wondered why he was standing there, refusing. He was keeping himself from his own happiness - holding himself captive pointlessly. If he was rejected, he was rejected. But at least at the end of his life, he could look back and say that he hadn't done nothing.

He had to leave.

The ceremony took forever. And, while perhaps it was a little chauvenistic of him to rush out when he was the man of honor, he didn't have much time. The wedding was to have started - shit, five minutes ago.

**...**

For all that it signified, the white satin might as well have been iron bars, except this was a greater cage than any before; this was forever and eternity, until death do you part, captivity to the end of your life - this was a prison that spectators would 'ooh' and 'aah' over in delight at the beauty of such a delicate creation. Yet the corset was too tight - tight, tight, far too tight, so tight that the future bride had never been able to breathe inside of it.

In some form or another, she would wear this cage for the rest of her life.

And she was breaking. Throughout the day - when the bridesmaids began their preparations, during the fixing-up of her face, the times when she was asked a question and someone else cut her off with the wrong answer. And yet all she could think was; _This is not right. This has to be stopped. But if I don't have this, then I have nothing._

Was it technically possible to call off a wedding on the day that it is supposed to happen?

The girls who dressed her dismissed it as bridal nerves and forced her into the dress with their voices, one arm there, the other one here; step into the dress, now suck in your stomach, lace up the corset, and stop breathing!

The cage's door was closing and she knew that there was no way that she could let it shut.

They had just finished with the extravagant confection of material when footsteps sounded outside the door, a hand turned the doorknob, and an all-too-familiar figure walked through the doorway; Lady Charlene Kirk had the distinct expression on her face of having a rotten taste in her mouth.

"She's ready?"

"Yes, she is."

"Why, Lucille, daaaarling," Charlene drawled jeeringly, standing over her with her fists on her hips, wrinkling the obscenely expensive gown that she wore. "You look _so_ beautiful." She didn't finish what she was going to say; she didn't have to. _I would have looked better in it, though._

"Oh, you really think so?" Lucy retorted, already beginning to lose her temper. "I'll let you use it when I'm done with it."

Charlene's eyes widened then narrowed; Lucy's simply darkened with a potent warning.

"Lucille-"

Lucille was dead, if she had indeed ever existed in the first place. Suddenly, Lucy felt sick to her stomach. Why had she left? Why the _fuck_ was she here now? If the best reason that she had was that this was all that she had, then she would rather have nothing than to live in a cage for the rest of her life, fuck it all. Even with the bullshit of Joe wanting her and coming to find her, the fact of the matter was that she had gotten herself into this mess and she was the one who had to get herself out of it.

She stood to her feet before she was entirely conscious of it, starting for the door, not bothering to take off the dress or begin the process of explaining to the 'bridal party'. It was over. And it had to be over soon. What was the first thing to do? Find Mother. No. Tell Sydney.

She didn't mind the photographer that felt into step behind her, taking photographs with his camera as he went. Sydney's door was closed - noises pervaded through the doorway. It sounded eerily like a gasp-

Lucy found her hand on the doorknob and didn't contemplate the motion any more than she minded the photographer; she threw open the door, only to find that there were two bodies clothed in nothing but the natural sweat of their skin and the sin that they had just committed. The gasp that Lucy emitted may or may not have been a direct copy of the gasp that had emerged from the cracks of the doorjams.

"Mother?"

**...**

He was not where he was supposed to be. He could hear music from where he stood in the garden, yet he did not move. The wedding was indoors and he was not. He listened, kicking his feet against the shy green ivy and wondering why he had come. It was too late. It had always been too late. He had come too late in her life.

But there were footsteps.

"Joe?"

He turned, only to behold the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen - and suddenly, he understood the look in George Luz's eyes as he had watched Dani walk down the aisle towards him. His breath was gone - but this time it was good, because she was there, and the world was right. She was smiling, glowing. Radiant.

"Lu," he breathed, unconscious of the smile spreading across his face, the same smile that made Lucy's breath catch in her chest and her heart feel like it was in her brain, her neck, her ears, her toes, her everywhere - her body tingled and thrummed with the knowledge of his presence. She was alive again, rejuvenated and regenerated.

"I need to tell you something." He couldn't seem to look into her eyes as he approached; in fact, it seemed to her that he looked everywhere but. Her chest was tight, her throat closing up, her voice becoming more and more quiet as they crept closer and closer to each other as people who almost knew what the other wanted. One brush of a finger and hands twined between them. She was the moth to his flame, he the North pole to her South pole. Glued together for all of eternity, enraptured by the other.

"I joined the Airborne because I was putting down a mortgage for a new house for my parents."

She stared up at him in surprise. This was what he wanted to tell her? Finally, his eyes met hers.

"You don't have a ring on your finger yet," he whispered, running a calloused thumb over her left ring finger to indicate exactly which digit he was referring to. "Not even an engagement ring." She was silent, but he found the answer he was looking for in her face. "Lu." He breathed, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I am in love with you."

"Joe..."

"Marry me."

Her smile spoke all the words that she could have ever said; there was no vocalization necessary, nor was it possible. Lucy seemed to have suddenly lost her voice - so she told him the only way she could immediately think of. She slid her hand into Joe's silky locks and, with the knowledge that this man was the only man that she wanted to spend eternity with, she kissed him, drawing his body into hers and his arms around her.

_I love you_, her lips said against his, _and you are mine._

Joseph Liebgott found himself praying to the God above that this was not a dream; that he was done with dreams, that he was done with the night, that it was finished - that it was time to start _living_ those dreams out.

_Don't let this be a dream._

**...**

The city shone celestially, visible even to the stars themselves, such was the radiant happiness illuminating the streets and sidewalk corners, banishing the darkness and forbidding the shadows of sadness to return. The hearts and minds of Joe and Lucy Liebgott were united in one day and one night and henceforth proclaimed as husband and wife. Lucy, clad in simple white, and Joe, with firmness and assured knowledge in his voice, promised to love each other until the day that they died.

And so they did.


End file.
